Ordinary World
by Firestar9mm
Summary: Jasmine Fenton is embarrassed by her family. But as she staggers under the strain of being the only normal Fenton, a term paper teaches her some interesting things about family, not just the ones we're born into, but the ones we make for ourselves.
1. The Only Normal Fenton

**Author's Introduction:**

I really do enjoy this series. I can relate to a ton of the characters. Lots of the time I can relate to Sam, who's full of honesty and integrity and is constantly disappointed because she expects the same from others. Other times I can relate to Danny, who just wants to do good and be happy, and still ends up fading away a piece at a time over the course of the day.

And some of the time I can relate to Jasmine Fenton—who often feels like she's babysitting the world. This is for the Jazzes of the world, for their lost sleep and their worrying, their term papers and complaints. I know it's hard for you, too.

**Obligatory disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to _Danny Phantom_, but if I ever run into Butch Hartman I'm going to offer to buy him a drink. I also don't own any elements of the song _Ordinary World_, which is by the legendary Duran Duran, and can be found on "The Wedding Album" (among other places).

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

_Came in from a rainy Thursday on the avenue  
__Thought I heard you talking softly  
__I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio  
__Still I can't escape the ghost of you  
__What has happened to it all?__  
Crazy, some are saying  
__Where is the light that I recognize?  
__Gone away  
__But I won't cry for yesterday  
__There's an ordinary world somehow I have to find  
__And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world  
__I will learn to survive_

**(_Ordinary World_, Duran Duran)

* * *

**

**Chapter One: The Only Normal Fenton

* * *

**

It was the mornings that Jasmine Fenton liked the best. After the alarm went off, but before she cast off the covers and rose to wade into the day. When she was just starting to wake, but her mind was still relaxed and receptive to dreaming.

She'd imagine her day—downstairs, where her mother would be at the stove, breakfast ready on the table. Her father would already be seated, dressed perhaps in a pinstriped suit and precisely knotted tie, leisurely enjoying pancakes before heading off to work. Her younger brother Danny would be pouring maple syrup onto his plate, watching the time so as not to be late for school. She'd drift into the kitchen, and they would all say, "Good mor—"

Loud thumping, a crash and shouting tore Jazz's dream to shreds. The pounding of running footsteps grew louder as they passed Jazz's closed door, then faded back to inaudibility as they continued down the hall to Danny's room.

"Keep that goddamned thing away from me!" her brother screamed, and then the sound of a slamming door chased the last vestiges of sleep from Jazz's brain.

A beeping sound approached Jazz's door, accompanied by her father's deep voice. "I don't understand why this thing keeps insisting Danny is a ghost! Hunk of junk."

Her father, although he didn't know it, was right on both counts—Danny _was_ a ghost. And the machine—whatever it was this time—was definitely a hunk of junk.

Jazz threw the covers off and padded to her dresser, her fantasy morning once again shot to hell by reality. There were no peaceful breakfasts in the Fenton house. There was no peaceful _anything_ in the Fenton house. Ghost-hunting parents who couldn't even tell their own _son_ was half-ghost. No wonder Danny was always jumping at shadows lately.

Jazz had found out her brother's secret entirely by accident—that he was half human, half ghost—but once she had seen the end result, she realized that the evidence had been in front of them all the entire time. But for better or worse, Danny wasn't normal, and neither were her parents. Only Jazz seemed to try to chase down normalcy in a house gone mad.

As she dragged a brush through her long red hair, Jazz willed herself to forget about pinstripes and pancakes. She was a Fenton, and those things never happened to the Fentons.

It was the mornings that Jazz liked the best.

When she could pretend.

* * *

Doom. Doom. _Doooooooom!_

Being the only normal one in the Fenton family was fraught with problems. It was one thing to be woken up by screaming and loud noise. But when you were the Only Normal Fenton, things were expected of you.

First of all, the Only Normal Fenton's duty was to maintain a near-perfect grade point average so as not to be confused with another Fenton who was currently flunking math, as well as set a high standard of excellence for the name Fenton.

The high grade point average was also essential to Objective #2: the Only Normal Fenton had to enter a career that had some real scientific merit, to prove to the world that not all Fentons spent their time chasing ghosts (or turning into them).

Which was why the Only Normal Fenton was currently bashing her head against her desk, having just received an assignment for her psychology class that was going to blow abovementioned crucial GPA completely to hell.

"And those are due in two weeks," Jazz's teacher said, turning back to the blackboard. "Okay. Let's talk anxiety. Chapter fourteen…"

Jazz was already anxious enough. Letting her gaze drift towards the nearby window, she saw the younger grades in the quad enjoying things like sunshine, fresh air, and beating up other kids for their milk money. It was their scheduled lunch hour. Like radar, Jazz's eyes found her brother and his friends almost immediately.

Danny didn't have many friends, but the ones he had were dependable as the coming of night, loyal to a fault. Jazz had to give credit where credit was due.

Tucker Foley was a grinning geek with skin the color of coffee with cream, small-framed glasses, and a PDA in a holster on his hip. He was tooling around on the PDA as Jazz watched, smiling every so often at a game Danny was playing with his other best friend, corpse bride Samantha Manson. She was kneeling across from Danny, her skirt tucked beneath her pale legs, which were in turn tucked into knee boots with two-inch treads. She had her hands, which were encased in fingerless gloves, palm up in front of Danny. He placed his own hands palm down on hers, and she would try to slap them before he could pull out of her reach.

Two hits and a miss, and Sam turned her hands over for Danny's turn. Jazz saw how happy her brother looked, how content and sweet his smile was. He never looked like that at home, never smiled that way at anyone else.

How? she wondered. How was he so happy? Even _she_ was rarely happy, and she was the Only Normal Fenton.

* * *

Jazz always marveled at how Danny's friends kept coming over to the Fenton house. She herself was far too embarrassed to ever invite anyone over.

So it wasn't a surprise when she happened upon Sam in the kitchen. As usual, the goth was initially a visual shock.

She was sitting on the kitchen counter, heavy combat boots dangling. A short black skirt barely made it to mid-thigh, and chains jingled from her belt loops. A black, lacy camisole completed the outfit. Heavy spiked cuffs held her wrists prisoner; a collar to match was around her neck. Her eyelids were emblazoned with purple shadow, mascara and eyeliner weighing the lashes down. And she was drinking a glass of milk.

The milk puzzled Jazz. She was always wondering why Sam felt the need to dress like the punk bride from Planet X, but the innocence of the milk ruined the image.

So did the smile she offered. "Hi, Jazz."

"Hey, Sam," Jazz said warily. "Are you waiting for Danny?" As if she had any other reason to be in the house.

Sam finished her milk, leaving a purple lip print on the glass. She wiped the milk moustache away with a fingerless-gloved hand. "Yeah. He's changing clothes. We're going to the Nasty Burger."

Jazz arched an auburn brow. "He needs to change clothes for _that_?"

"He wants to look good in case _Paulina_'s there." Sam said the name like it was usually accompanied with a lot of eye-rolling.

Jazz almost giggled at the goth's poorly concealed jealousy. She thought Sam was weird, but she had to give the girl credit—she protected Danny like a punk-rock Rottweiler.

Sam turned towards the staircase. "Danny!" she hollered. "Hurry up!"

"I don't under_stand_ it," Jack Fenton pouted, stomping into the kitchen. "It worked fine in testing." The drooping lip and sour expression looked comical on the big man.

"There, there, dear," Maddie Fenton soothed, following her husband into the room and placing a hand on his massive shoulder. "You'll get it eventually." She smiled at the room's other two occupants. "Hi, Jazz. Hi, Sam."

"Hi, Mrs. Fenton. Hi, Mr. Fenton," Sam said.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad."

Maddie's mom-radar was considerably better than her ghost-radar. "What's wrong, Jazzie? Hard day?"

"Yeah," Jazz admitted. "I have a massive term paper in psych about suicide in the media. I'm supposed to either defend or oppose the idea that the media glorifies suicide and makes it more appealing to teenagers. I don't even know where to _start_. Why couldn't I have gotten obsessive-compulsive disorder?"

"I thought you _had_ obsessive-compulsive disorder," Sam joked from the counter, but Jazz ignored her and continued ranting.

"I could have at least interviewed people for that one. Anyone who's committed suicide is a little beyond interviewing." Jazz plunked down in a kitchen chair to mope.

Jack Fenton's gaze eyes had taken on their trademark glazed gleam. "Never fear, Jazzie! We can get you interview subjects and help you with your paper!" He pumped a fist into the air. "_To the ghost portal_!"

Maddie gazed admiringly at her husband as he dashed from the room, then patted Jazz affectionately on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Jazz. You're a brilliant girl. You'll figure it out." She gave Jazz a squeeze.

"Thanks, Mom," Jazz sighed, leaning into the hug. Letting her daughter go, Maddie followed her husband out of the room, shouting, "On my way, Jack!"

Jazz and Sam were alone in the kitchen again. "Does she do that a lot?" Sam asked.

Jazz frowned. "What? Patronize me with useless fluffy encouragement before dashing back to the lab?"

Sam fiddled with one of her spiked cuffs. "Hug you."

"Oh..." Thrown off balance, Jazz thought about it. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess we hug a lot."

Sam kicked her feet absently but didn't say anything.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam was saved from having to answer by the timely but smelly arrival of Danny. The goth's hand flew to her nose. "Danny—ugh. Are you wearing cologne?"

Yeah, about two gallons of it, if Jazz's olfactory channels were working correctly. She followed Sam's lead and pinched her own nose. "Jesus Christ, Danny! You smell terrible!"

"It's Hugo Boss," Danny defended, chest puffing out beneath his black t-shirt.

"Smells like 'Accident in the Cologne Factory' to me," Sam giggled, hopping off the counter and walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Danny asked.

"To the lab. I need a gas mask to go anywhere with you!" Sam laughed.

"Cut it out, Sam!" Danny gave chase.

And the Only Normal Fenton was once again alone.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So there's chapter one. I know I got the idea for this sometime this morning, but I can't remember what prompted it or when it actually went down on the paper that followed me home in my purse. Guess I've just been spending a bit of time with Danny lately, not that I'm complaining.

**Next chapter: **Jazz can't figure out where to begin her assignment, but she might find help in an unlikely place.


	2. Amazing Insight

**Author's Introduction:**

I don't know about everyone else, but when I have a bad day, I like to sleep. I figure I'm safer there.

Unfortunately, when you sleep away the afternoon and evening, you're up all night when you have work at 9 AM the next day.

So I thought I'd be productive, and lo—chapter two.

**Obligatory disclaimer:** Don't own _Danny Phantom_, love Danny, drink with me Butch. Also don't own this chapter's musical reference—Dar Williams' _What Do You Hear In These Sounds?_, arguably the greatest song about therapy ever. It can be found on the album _End of the Summer_.

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Two:Amazing Insight

* * *

**

_And she's so kind _

_I think she wants to tell me something but she knows that it's much better if I get it for myself_

(**_What Do You Hear In These Sounds?_, Dar Williams**)

* * *

The light was purple and soft outside the window. Jazz was seated at the kitchen table, all of her old psychology papers fanning around her, when Danny trudged into the kitchen. The smell of Hugo Boss cologne was significantly fainter than before, but still noticeable. His black shirt looked wet in places.

"Hi, little bro," Jazz murmured, glancing up from an old essay on multiple personality disorder. "What happened to your shirt?"

"Hey." Danny's greeting was dejected, not at all like the sweet smile Jazz remembered from earlier in the quad. The pall of the Fenton house was stealing over him again, the way it cowed everyone else who lived there.

He sounded so down that it she took a break from her paperwork and gave him her full attention. "What's wrong? Where's Morticia?"

The name-calling earned her an angry, ice-blue glare from her brother. "Don't talk about Sam that way."

Jazz smiled. At least he was reacting. "Okay, I'm sorry."

"And to answer your question, _Sam_ went home." He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around for a minute before coming up with a can of cherry Coke. Bringing it to the table, he plunked down in a seat across from her without being invited.

"You sound angry about that," Jazz mused.

Danny snorted, popping the tab on the can. "Ha! I couldn't care less." He took a long sip from the can, then placed it on the table before adding, "If anyone's angry, it's Sam."

Jazz put her MPD paper down. "Want to talk about it?"

Danny huffed. "No, Dr. Freud. There's nothing to talk about. We went to the Nasty Burger, and everything was fine until Sam got the last cherry Coke they had."

"What's wrong with Sam drinking cherry Coke? The two of you drink it like it's going out of style. Coca-Cola is the only large corporation Sam seems to support," Jazz pointed out with a puzzled expression on her face.

Danny squirmed in his seat, and Jazz had a feeling that she wasn't going to want to take his side when the story ended. "Well, it was the last one," he said. "And then Paulina came in."

Jazz couldn't hold back a laugh. "What'd she think of your Hugo Boss?"

Danny's forehead creased beneath his dark bangs. "What?"

That was her baby brother, master of the short attention span.

"Paulina ordered a cherry Coke, and they didn't have any left." He squirmed again, and now Jazz didn't think even _he_ was going to take his own side.

"So?" she prompted.

"So…I sort of offered her Sam's soda."

Jazz pounded her head down on the table. "Oh, Danny."

"It was just a cherry Coke!" Danny burst out. "What's the big deal! Sam can get cherry Coke anywhere she wants!"

"Did you ask Sam if that was okay with her?" Jazz felt like she was talking to a kindergartener.

Danny blushed. "Well—no, but I went right to the register and got her a regular Coke."

"And then what happened?" Jazz asked, although she was pretty sure she knew.

"She thought it might look better on _me_," Danny spat, indicating his wet shirt. "And then she called me a jerk and stormed out."

Once again, Jazz thought, a Fenton man was right on both counts.

Jazz sighed. "Did Paulina sit down with you after Sam left?"

Danny blushed. "Um…no. In fact, she sort of just took the cherry Coke and wandered away."

"Way to go, Danny. Was that worth pissing Sam off?"

Danny finished his soda and crushed the can in his hand. "Whose side are you _on_, Jas_mine_?"

"Sam's, Dan_iel_." Jazz smiled. "Sam didn't care about the soda. She was upset that you cared more about Paulina's feelings than you did hers."

"I care about Sam's feelings," Danny pouted, looking a lot like his father.

"You weren't acting like it." Jazz clucked her tongue, finding that Danny's soda can had left a damp ring of condensation on her essay on Erikson's theories in _Jane Eyre_. Her hand shot out to lift the paper off the damp table. "Danny! These are important papers!"

"No, they're not. They're just your old psychology papers. And you already got As on all of them," he added jealously.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm studying them," she said. "I've got a really big paper and I don't even know how to begin, so I'm trying to see what I did right on all _these_ papers. Once I figure it out, I'll just do the same thing on this paper."

Danny smiled at his sister. "You're such a Fenton."

"I am not!" Jazz snapped, smacking the Erikson essay down on the table fiercely with one hand. Danny's face slid back to its usual startled expression.

Recovering, he shook his head. "Jazz, the only thing you did to deserve those As was work really hard. So if you work really hard on this paper, you'll ace it, too."

Jazz felt bad for screaming at him. "Thanks."

"Welcome." Danny got a paper towel and cleaned the condensation off the table.

"Want some free advice?" she asked.

Danny looked wary, but said, "Okay."

"Go get a bottle of cherry Coke, and bring it to school tomorrow. Give it to Sam at lunch and tell her you're sorry you hurt her feelings."

Danny blinked once or twice, turning the idea over in his head, then nodded. "That might actually work."

"Every so often I come up with a brilliant idea," Jazz said dryly. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"Sure thing. Don't burn your brain out down here." Danny loped out of the room, tossing a grin behind him as he went.

Jazz sighed and turned to the last page of her paper on psychological damage in the formative years. Her eyes were drawn to the red ink at the bottom of the page.

_A+. Excellent work, Jasmine. You've got amazing insight!

* * *

_

Jazz was no stranger to staying after school—in addition to being the Only Normal Fenton, she was an overachiever and had been a member of the Student Council, the year book committee, and the school newspaper.

Today she had a different mission. She was racing back to her teacher's classroom, hoping to catch him before he left for the day. She needed someone to tell her where the hell to begin this suicide paper.

Skidding into the classroom, she saw she needn't have hurried. Mr. Worth was sitting calmly at his desk, reading _The American Journal of Parapsychology_. A handful of dejected-looking teens were scattered around the classroom, doing various forms of nothing.

Worth looked up from his journal. "Hi, Jasmine. What can I do for you?"

Still breathless from hurrying, Jazz panted, "I didn't know you were doing detention today, Mr. Worth."

Jazz's psychology teacher was a placid man with small glasses, a neat goatee and a ready smile. Closing his journal, he smiled. "Today the bell tolls for me, Jazz. Did you want to join my friends here?"

Someone muttered a curse from the back row. Unable to help glancing back there, Jazz was surprised once again to see Sam Manson. The goth's frown matched her charcoal eyeshadow and black eyeliner, which appeared smudgy, as if she'd hurriedly brushed at her eyes. A bottle of cherry Coke was sitting on her desk, half-empty.

Turning back to Mr. Worth, Jazz regained her train of thought. "I need some help with my paper."

Worth stroked his beard. "Of course, Jazz. What part?"

"The paper," Jazz elaborated. "I can't seem to start."

Worth chuckled. "Well, sit down, Jazz, and we'll find you a jump-off."

Jazz pulled an empty chair across the room and sat down gratefully. "All I've managed to collect so far is statistics. For instance, according to the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, suicide is the eighth leading cause of death for males in the U.S.; however, females are reported to attempt suicide three times as often as males. I'm wondering if there's a way I can relate those statistics to the subject as my opener," she explained.

"You mean, why females are more likely to attempt, but males are more likely to succeed?" Worth asked.

"Right," Jazz said. "Would that make any sense?"

"Sure it would." Worth's wire-framed glasses flashed at Jazz as he gestured to the walls around them. "Keep in mind you're surrounded by the subjects of your research, so anything goes."

Jazz squirmed. "I think many students would find that invasive."

Worth sighed. "We're scientists, Jazz, and further than that, we're psychologists. Probing inside the mysteries of the human mind will always be viewed by some as invasive. But research of any kind is important in the advancement of our field. Would you do an invasive study if it could someday stop a teenage boy or girl from attempting suicide?"

Jazz chewed her lip. She could hardly see how a high school term paper would advance her field, but the message was clear—if she wanted to ace this paper and keep her perfect record as the Only Normal Fenton, she'd have to do things according to the rules. She nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Not at all, Jazz. Always a pleasure, and I hope I helped you," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to have a visit that isn't forced," he added with a chuckle, indicating the trapped detentionees.

Sam's glare could have frozen beer.

* * *

Sam was trudging out of the school doors when Jazz rolled down her the window of her '98 Jetta. "Hey, Sam. Want a ride home?"

It took a minute for Sam to weigh the unaccustomed kindness of Jazz's offer versus the possible catch involved divided by the long walk home, but she eventually walked to the car and got in.

"Thanks," she said. The cherry Coke lay in Sam's plaid lap, and Jazz made a mental note to interrogate her brother later.

"I can't imagine how _you_ got detention and my dork of a brother didn't," Jazz said.

Sam laughed. "Well, every so often Danny manages to avoid Lancer for a day or two."

"But you weren't so lucky, hm?" Jazz put her blinker on.

"Actually, I got detention for refusing to participate in gym." Sam fiddled with her ever-present spiked cuffs. "They wanted me to take my cuffs off, and I didn't want to."

"They gave you detention for that?" Jazz asked.

"I think they thought I might spike something other than the volleyball," Sam quipped dryly, looking out the window.

"Why didn't you just take them off?"

"I just didn't want to. They're mine, and the school can't make me take them off."

"I have to hand it to you, Sam. You don't back down." Jazz smiled.

"Thanks," Sam said.

Jazz was pleased; she seemed to be making headway with the goth, which was beneficial if the girl was going to be hanging around the house so much. Judging by those looks Danny and Sam sometimes gave each other by accident, Jazz made a mental note to toss her wedding bouquet in Sam's direction.

The thought made her smile at the cherry Coke in Sam's lap.

The Jetta slowed to a stop at a red light. "This is just fine, Jazz. Thanks." And she opened the door and hopped out of the car.

"Sam, _wait_," Jazz gasped, making a grab for the goth and trying to keep the steering wheel steady. She came up with a handful of air. "I'll take you to your door."

"No, it's okay, I'm nearly home," Sam called. "Thanks for the ride—and tell Danny thanks for the soda!" And she jogged down the block, disappearing beyond the Seven-Eleven before Jazz could say another word.

The light turned green, and the Ford F-150 behind Jazz blasted its horn.

* * *

Danny dropped a kiss on his sister's head as he walked into the kitchen and slid a plate of sugar cookies across to her.

Surprised but pleased, Jazz took a cookie. "What was that for?"

"For being the smartest sister in the world." Danny beamed. "Sam and I are friends again."

Jazz knew that her plan had worked, but she pretended to be surprised anyway. "Really? Great, Danny. I knew she'd forgive you."

Danny smiled, shrugging. "Yeah. She called me a loser and an asshole and jumped on my back to get me in a half-nelson, but she was laughing the whole time, so I think it's safe to say she's happy again." Danny bit into a sugar cookie. "She was supposed to come over, but she got detention in gym because she refused to take off her spiked cuffs. Tucker and I asked her if she wanted us to wait around for her, but she said no."

Jazz decided against telling Danny that she'd driven Sam home—well, sort of home. No one in the Fenton household had actually seen where Sam lived, or knew much about her family. Sometimes Sam's house seemed as mysterious and ghostly as the things the Fentons chased—no one was sure if it even really existed.

"How's your paper going, Jazz?" Danny reached for another cookie, his wristwatch reflecting light onto the wall.

"_Ghost!_" Jack bellowed, and a hole was immediately blasted through the wall where the reflection was.

Jack sidled through the kitchen door, twirling a laser pistol around his finger. The smell of ozone drifted into the kitchen.

"I showed that ghost what for with the _Fenton Firestar_," Jack said proudly, blowing smoke away from the barrel of the pistol. "What do you think, guys?"

Jazz glanced at the counter, where Danny had leapt when the shooting started. "It's great, Dad. Do you have an invention to peel Danny off the ceiling, too?"

"Don't say 'peel'," Danny groaned, obviously remembering the Fenton Ghost Peeler.

Maddie peered through the crater in the wall, goggles down over her eyes. "Hi, kids!"

Jazz shook her head sadly. "Ever think about suicide?" she quipped to Danny, who was sliding off the counter warily, eyes trained on the Fenton Firestar.

"Every Monday and Wednesday," Danny sighed.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Cherry Coke is the biggest advancement modern science has ever made.

Jazz's essay on Erikson in _Jane Eyre_ **might** have appeared in one of my college courses, but I can assure you I did not get an A. (chuckles.) Of course, I didn't work nearly as hard as Jazz.

I also might have gotten kicked out of a high-school gym class for refusing to take off spiked bracelets, once upon a time, but I used to get kicked out of gym for a lot of stupid things, like playing hockey left-handed.

I haven't seen every episode of _Danny Phantom _yet, although I'm working on it, so I apologize for any discrepancies. Regarding Sam's background, I know we do eventually see her house and meet her parents, but I'm still operating under the early mindset that no one knows much about her home life, including how rich she is and an embarrassing nickname like "Sammykins".

There is also no such invention as the Fenton Firestar. That's simply a homage to my new pen name and favorite firearm, the Firestar 9mm. (smiles.)

**Next chapter:** Jazz begins her research in earnest, and I promise to spend some more time with Tucker. I haven't forgotten you, Tuckerino!


	3. Pavlov's Bell

**Author's Introduction: **Sorry it's taken me so long with this chapter—I haven't been feeling so hot lately so I've been sleeping a lot. I dream of Danny. (chuckles.) Silver linings.

This chapter: Everyone's got problems with something, but Jazz hasn't studied psychology for years without knowing how to turn it to her advantage.

**Obligatory disclaimer: **I don't own _Danny Phantom_—he owns me! (smiles dreamily) I also don't own any elements of the song _Pavlov's Bell_ by Aimee Mann, which can be found on the album _Lost in Space_, but I do have her autograph.

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Three: Pavlov's Bell**

_Tell me what I already know_

_That we can't talk about it_

_No, we can't talk about it_

_Because nobody knows _

_That's how I nearly fell_

_Trading clothes_

_And ringing Pavlov's bell_

_History shows_

_There's not a chance in hell—but—_

**(_Pavlov's Bell_, Aimee Mann)

* * *

**

If success in school was measured by how many pictures you had in the yearbook, then Jasmine Fenton was Casper High's shining star.

If you counted formal club pictures, Jazz appeared in last year's book twenty-three times. If you didn't count them, she appeared eighteen times. You could turn to any page and see Jazz smiling from the center of the National Honor Society's group picture or cheering at the sidelines of a pep rally or frowning down at a stove in home ec. The yearbooks sat neatly on Jazz's bookshelf beside her debate team trophy and a copy of Ember McLain's debut album, "Come Over Here and Say That". (Jazz still wasn't sure why she was keeping that, but she'd inherited her father's tendency to never throw anything away.)

Hoping to beat her previous record, Jazz had made it a point to befriend Matt Prescott, who took yearbook pictures when he wasn't playing running back for the Casper High Ravens. Not a difficult thing to do—Matt was easy to talk to and had a smile that dug a cute dimple in his cheek when he was happy. She'd also decided to join another extracurricular, but it proved hard to choose. After finally narrowing it down to the newspaper staff or the track team, she reasoned that writing music and movie reviews for the _Invisible Ink_ would be far easier than running wind sprints and jumping hurdles.

However, every so often even the Only Normal Fenton was wrong.

"Who wants to hear their horoscope?" Paulina sang from her desk near the front of the classroom, waving her already-completed "article" for this month's paper.

"Me!"

"Me, I do!"

Jazz frowned at the way everyone crowded around Paulina. It was hardly for her to care who was popular and who wasn't, but couldn't there be at least one class or activity that wasn't The Paulina Show?

" 'Midmonth Cancer turns into a daredevil'," Paulina purred to Steve Colburn, who covered all sporting events at Casper High. " 'Satisfy his thrill-seeking with erotic escapades to keep him from doing anything rash'."

"You are so right, Paulina," the sports writer purred, giving Paulina puppy-dog eyes. "I'm totally looking for a thrill. Think you can keep me from doing anything rash?"

_Gross,_ Jazz thought, rolling her eyes. _They're giving **me **a rash…_

"And once again, Paulina is finished before everyone else!" Mr. Wat said, giving the class a squinty smile. "The rest of you better get in gear or this month's issue is going to be late!"

It was on the tip of Jazz's tongue to say that Paulina got those horoscopes from back issues of _Cosmopolitan_, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, the rest of the newspaper staff was already settling down at their computers to work, while Paulina swung her shoulders beneath her dark hair and belittled Steve even as she flirted with him.

"People, _please _spell-check your articles before submitting them," Wat said tiredly from his desk at the front of the room. "And please don't use acronyms such as 'BMOC' if you have no idea what they stand for." Wat looked up from his paperwork. "Can I see Jasmine Fenton for a moment? The rest of you continue to work."

Jazz gulped and walked up to the desk. "Hi, Mr. Wat," she said, in what she hoped was a calm, nonchalant voice. "What's up?"

Wat sighed. He had the skinny build of a computer programmer, and his clothes were always slightly wrinkled. "Jazz, we're having a bit of a problem with your reviews."

Jazz felt the blood draining from her face. "What do you mean? I thought everything was going well. I made sure my research was thorough, and I was within the word count every month!"

Wat showed her the last issue of the paper, where her review had been printed on a middle page. "Don't get me wrong, I loved your review on the latest freeform jazz CD, but then again, I'm going to be forty-three next month and haven't had a girlfriend since Foreigner was still touring."

Jazz thought that an incorrect assessment of what kids listened to—Danny, Sam and Tucker had driven her crazy last weekend listening to Foreigner while they did their homework. Tucker singing "Juke Box Hero" was Jazz's own personal idea of hell. Danny and Sam's too, judging by the stuffing leaking out of the pillows they'd beaten him with.

"But…but…" Jazz stammered. Failure was not an option for the Only Normal Fenton. To be told she'd done something wrong made her chest hurt and her throat close.

"And your book review on _Women Who Love Too Much _was scintillating, but I believe its value was lost on the majority of the student body…" Wat continued.

"That book is a _classic_," Jazz retorted in panic. "It has helped a _lot_ of people."

Wat looked pained. "I understand, Jazz, but we're trying to reach the student body. I think you need to…approach everyone on a level we can all understand."

Jazz was livid. She understood, too. He wanted her to dumb it down for them—for every Dash Baxter who weaseled his way out of trouble, for every Paulina who couldn't take her head out of her own cleavage for more than a minute. She was to cater to them, to stoop to their level, if she wanted to advance. Silently she seethed; aloud she said, "Sure, sir. What do you think I should do next?" It came out slightly strangled from between gritted teeth.

Wat smiled broadly and handed her something—a ticket. "Here. I asked my nephew what was 'cool' and he told me this band is huge in the 'underground' scene." From the way he spoke, Jazz had a feeling that if he hadn't been holding the ticket out to her, he'd have used his hands for quotation marks.

Jazz took the ticket. "Senses Fail?" The Rolodex in her brain flipped fast and then faster, searching for why that name sounded familiar. If she had any memories of Tucker singing, she was quitting the paper. Immediately.

"I want you to go to this concert and write a review on it for the paper," Wat was saying.

She flipped through more memories. The CDs in the car of the last boyfriend she'd had, the playlist on Tucker's PDA when he'd left it on the kitchen table—finally she found the memory she was looking for. Her brother and his friends were in the Fenton's rec room for one of their movie nights. Tucker had command of the armchair, lounging in his makeshift throne like a lazy prince, while Danny and Sam lay side by side on the floor. And when she came to the door to see what they were watching, she could read the words across the small of her brother's back, printed on his black hoodie—_Senses Fail_.

Jazz frowned. "If my brother likes this band, I'm going to have a headache when I get home from this concert."

She hadn't really been speaking to Mr. Wat, but he answered anyway. "It's good for all of us to expand our horizons, Jazz. It might do you well to see things from another perspective."

Jazz stamped back to her desk in defeat, turning on her computer and pulling up the band's web site. She'd have to borrow some of Danny's CDs, which meant she was in for some teasing. Great.

"Smile."

Jazz turned to see who was speaking, but was immediately blinded by a flash. "Ow!"

Blinking the afterimage away, she saw the grinning face of Matt Prescott, the football player who took yearbook pictures. "Why did you do that?"

"I'm getting some pictures of the newspaper staff for the yearbook," Matt explained, waggling the camera at her. "Action shots!"

"Action shots? There's not much action going on here," Jazz said, rolling her eyes. "You've got the easy job today."

Matt shrugged his broad shoulders. "Ah, it's not so great. Coach is on me for being late to practice because of this stuff. And I have to go to all these stupid school events to take pictures, like the chorus concert and the arts festival, and that thing they're having at the beginning of October."

"The Fall Ball?" Jazz asked, a smile playing around her lips.

Matt ran a hand through his blond hair. "Yeah, that. I have to go and take pictures of the decorations and the dancing and everything. It'll be so boring."

It didn't sound boring to Jazz. It sounded delightfully ordinary. "Can't you take a couple of pictures and then enjoy the dance?" she asked.

Matt smiled. "Yeah, probably. I mean, I don't have a date or anything." He sighed, then added, "…You know, unless, like, you wanted to come or something."

Or something. Jazz fought a grin. "That'd be cool," she said, in the same hopefully-nonchalant voice she'd used for Mr. Wat. "What day is it again?"

"October 23rd," Matt said.

"October 23rd, okay, that's—"

Jazz's gaze darted to the ticket that was sitting next to the keyboard. _Senses Fail Live at the Downtown, October **23rd**_**—**

"—terrible," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

* * *

The kitchen table was a lot bigger than Jazz's desk, so when she had a large project to work on she liked to spread out as much as possible. Jack Fenton had once jokingly referred to the kitchen as "Jazz's lab". Jazz hadn't laughed, not wanting to have a "lab". Too many things went wrong in Fenton labs. 

_Each year in the U.S., thousands of teenagers commit suicide. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for 15-to-24-year-olds, and the sixth leading cause of death for 5-to-14-year-olds._

A memory flashed behind Jazz's eyes—Danny's last birthday. Maddie had brought home a marshmallow-iced devil's-food cake, Danny's favorite, and he and Sam and Tucker had eaten it out of the box with spoons, not even waiting for plates. They'd curled up in the rec room and watched movies late into the night, the sound of their laughter keeping Jazz awake until she came down to watch too.

_Teenagers experience strong feelings of stress, confusion, self-doubt, pressure to succeed, financial uncertainty, and other fears while growing up. For some teens, suicide may appear to be a solution to their problems and stress. Depression and suicidal feelings are treatable mental disorders. The child or adolescent needs to have his or her illness recognized and diagnosed, and appropriate treatment plans developed. When parents are in doubt whether their child has a serious problem, a psychiatric examination can be very helpful._

Jazz remembered Penelope Spectra's brief reign of terror over their lives, how Danny had growled at her to leave him alone, to stay out of his business.

_Many of the symptoms of suicidal feelings are similar to those of depression, such as change in eating and sleeping habits, violent actions, rebellious behavior, running away, marked personality change, persistent boredom, difficulty concentrating, or a decline in the quality of schoolwork…_

Jazz threw the book across the table. She was feeling a distinct decline in the quality of her schoolwork, too.

Tucker Foley walked into the kitchen, picking up the fallen book. "Gives new meaning to the phrase 'hitting the books'. What's up, Jazz?"

Jazz slanted a glare at the offending techno-geek. "Hi, Tucker. Do my parents just leave the door unlocked now?"

"Pretty much." Tucker shrugged. "I think they think the ghost shield will just keep everything out."

Jazz dropped her head to the table. "I…just…live…here."

Tucker laughed. "Actually, Danny let me in. He and Sam were right behind me, but I thought I'd give them some alone-time if you know what I mean." He winked.

Jazz knew what he meant. "Are they still giving each other those meaningful looks, then blushing and averting their eyes?"

Tucker sighed as though the unspoken attraction between Danny and Sam was his greatest burden. "Constantly. All I have to do is say 'Sam', and Danny goes all goofy lately. Even goofier than normal," he emphasized, so that there might be no mistake. "It's like Pavlov's bell."

Jazz arched an auburn brow. "You know about Pavlov's bell?"

Tucker smiled, pulling a chair out and sitting down. "I may chase girls and spend too much time on the internet, but I do read every once in a while, Jazz." He rubbed a hand under his chin as though he were deep in thought. "Although, if I said 'Sam' and he started salivating, that might be cause for alarm."

Jazz grinned. "What, you've never seen him do that?"

"Do what?" Danny ambled into the kitchen with Sam in tow.

"Salivate," Tucker answered readily.

Jazz kicked him under the table.

"_Ow_"

"Ah—he was talking about salivating over…Paulina!" Jazz finished with happy inspiration, till she saw the scowl that immediately appeared on Sam's face. Whoops. Maybe she should have said "pork chops" or "Pamela Anderson".

"Ugh, Tucker, KYS," Sam groaned.

Jazz was confused. "What's KYS?"

"Kill Your Self," Danny explained.

"That's awful!" Jazz said.

"Yeah, I know, that's why we changed it to KYS," Sam said.

Danny opened the fridge and rummaged inside. Meanwhile, Sam jumped onto the counter and took a Twinkie out of the box in the cabinet.

"If you eat enough of those, Sam, you're going to turn into Paulina," Tucker joked.

Sam said something that sounded obscene, but her mouth was full of snack cake. She flipped a middle finger at Tucker, to be sure that she'd gotten her message across.

Jazz felt the muscle beneath her left eye twitching. "No—guys, you can't stay in here. I'm trying to work."

"It's my kitchen, too," Danny said, the jar of mayonnaise in his hand and the makings of a sandwich on the counter. "And I say we stay."

"I'm _trying_ to do my _paper_, Daniel!" Jazz hissed.

"Then go to your _room_, Jasmine," Danny said with an infuriating smile.

Tucker put his Timberlands up on the table, one heel resting on Jazz's second page of notes. She pulled at the leg of his cargo pants. "Tucker! Get your feet off the table! Were you raised by barbarians?"

"What could you expect from a meat-eater?" Sam said from the counter, brushing crumbs off her purple plaid skirt.

"Shut up, hippie!" Tucker said, taking Jazz's eraser and throwing it at Sam.

"That's _mine!_" Jazz cried, making a grab for it like she was in the middle of a game of keep-away.

"Ow!" Sam squirmed on the counter, trying to block the throw.

"_Stop_ it," Danny said, almost absently, as if he had stopped this fight more times than he cared to count.

"I think I hear the flower children calling!" Tucker continued, cupping a hand near his ear for dramatic effect. "Sam, karma is going to kick your ass when you get eaten by a cow."

Sam threw Jazz's eraser back at Tucker, but she was smiling. "Well, I hope a giant celery stick eats _you_."

And just like that, they were laughing. Jazz was confused. Hadn't they just been fighting?

"I need you guys to leave," she reiterated, grabbing her eraser back from Tucker. "You're way too noisy."

"You're way too uptight," Danny retorted, sitting in a chair with a sandwich three-quarter-inches thick. "What crawled up your ass and took a bite?" As he spoke of bites, he took a huge one from the sandwich, chewing loudly.

Jazz frowned, eyebrows meeting. "I had a bad day, okay? I got a stupid newspaper assignment on top of my already-huge psych paper, and now I can't go to the Fall Ball."

"I have no idea what one has to do with the other, but okay." Sam shrugged.

Jazz was about to explain about the concert review she had to write, but Tucker interrupted, crossing his arms and pouting. "Am I the _only _one who doesn't have a date for the Fall Ball? This is going to be a repeat of the last dance we had, isn't it?"

"Don't worry, Tuck. Sam and I don't have dates either," Danny said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Tucker raised his head, glancing pointedly from Danny to Sam and back again. "That's because you're both oblivious," he muttered.

"Huh?" Sam asked.

"What?" Danny said.

Jazz felt like dropping her head to the table, too.

"Well," Danny said, brightening. "Just like Sam always says, we have each other. We can go and just hang out, kind of like last time."

Tucker smiled. "We could."

Sam blushed, looking guilty. "Ummm…"

Danny and Tucker exchanged glances. " 'Um' isn't good," Tucker said.

Sam blushed harder. "I sort of have a ticket to a concert that night."

"What!" the boys exclaimed.

Sam frowned. "Danny, Senses Fail is playing at the Downtown. Remember? We talked about it this morning."

Senses Fail? That was the band that Jazz had to write the review on for the stupid newspaper. She frowned, thinking about how Matt Prescott was probably going to ask some other girl to the Fall Ball. "Yeah, I—"

But Sam was still talking. "I told you there was a presale on tickets—you said you were going to get one online with your dad's credit card. Didn't you?"

Danny's ice-blue eyes shot wide. He jumped from his chair and grabbed Sam's hands, pulling her off the counter. "We gotta get to Bucky's, right now. Gotta fly—"

At the sound of the word "fly", the three teens froze and shot horrified glances at Jazz. Quickly, she said, "Yeah, you'd better _fly_ down there on those stupid motor scooters of yours if you want to get a ticket, Danny!"

"I'll meet you outside," Sam said, holding her hands out in front of her. "Ewww…Danny, you just got mayonnaise all over my hands. I'm going to wash them."

Danny pouted. "Hurry up, Sam! We have to get there before they sell out!" He grabbed Tucker by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out the kitchen door.

"Why do _I _have to go stand on line?" Tucker wailed. "I'm not getting a ticket. I don't even _like_ that band!"

"Because you sang Ember songs until our ears bled," Danny retorted, and then the sound of the door slamming echoed through the house.

Sam turned on the tap at the kitchen sink, unbuckling the cuffs around her wrists and placing them on the sideboard so they wouldn't get wet. Jazz glanced at the kitchen roll and realized it was empty—_dammit__, Danny_—before taking a dish towel from the rack on the stove and bringing it to the sink. "Here, Sam."

"Thanks." Sam turned from the sink to reach for the towel.

But Jazz had frozen—it was suddenly, horribly apparent why Sam never wanted to take her cuffs off. A jagged pink scar could be seen running vertically down her left wrist, and Jazz knew that if she turned Sam's right wrist over, there would be an identical scar.

Sam followed Jazz's eyes and snapped back to life; her placid expression collapsed into fury. She snatched for her cuffs, hurriedly buckling them back over her wrists. "I have to go."

"Sam—" Jazz wasn't sure what to say. Everything made sense, and she suddenly felt sick.

The goth's heavily mascaraed violet eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for an escape as she tried to push her way past the older girl. Jazz had never seen such instantaneous rage. "Get out of my _way_, Jazz!"

Jazz blocked her path. "Sam, wait—"

Sam put a hand on Jazz's shoulder and pushed, hard. The older girl was too shocked to put up much of a fight, and Sam raced past, out of the kitchen and into the entryway. The water was still running, but she could be heard calling, almost desperately, for her friends.

"Danny! Tucker! Wait up!"

Dazedly, Jazz walked back to the sink and turned the tap off. She felt horribly guilty, as if she'd walked in on Sam actually cutting herself. Questions raced through her mind—did Danny know? What would make Sam do such a thing? When had it happened? Those scars looked old.

_"We're scientists, Jazz, and beyond that, we're psychologists…would you do an invasive study if it meant it would someday stop a teenaged boy or girl from committing suicide?"_

Not if it meant seeing that look on that teenaged boy or girl's face.

* * *

In a world of ghosts, goths, Fenton Fishers, and GPAs, Jazz Fenton was grateful for constants. 

Every life had constants—certain things that never changed, that could always be counted on no matter how the maelstrom raged outside.

For her parents, Jazz knew that no matter how bad things looked, no matter what happened, they could come up with an invention to level the playing field and turn things around for them.

Danny's constants were Sam and Tucker. No matter what books Lancer stacked on his desk, no matter what punishments he suffered, no matter what bullies he faced or what ghosts had him by the throat, Danny knew Sam and Tucker were going to be right by his side, fighting with him.

Jazz's constants weren't flesh and blood. They were paper and ink, weather and worry, ordinary and safe. Her constants were the rising and setting of the sun, which never went through phases and could be measured at all times of the year. Her constants were things like formulas, routines, and she dove into them gratefully when times were hard.

For instance, in order to write a proper school paper, you had to answer any and all questions presented by the subject. You had to present your thesis, then prove the thesis by the evidence you gave in the body of the paper. That was the formula; those were the rules.

And Jazz always wrote out her questions first, so she could answer them properly and in order. That was routine; that was home.

_Many people believe that teenagers are too young to suffer from depression. They say teenagers are naturally moody, and suffer many ups and downs in their changing lives. Therefore, when faced with the idea of teenage suicide, many tend to blame the media and pop culture for influencing the impressionable minds of these children. However, clinical depression is far more common than people think, affecting 3 to 5 percent of the teenage population every year. Depression is a serious disease that **can **be treated, and it **does **affect the minds of teens._

Okay, now to prove it…

It didn't help that she was trying to listen to a Senses Fail CD she'd filched from Danny's room after he'd left with Sam and Tucker hours before. Between the guitars, the bass, and the screaming, she could barely concentrate.

**_(I'll take my time)  
To slowly plot your end.  
(But now I will)  
Spit bullets with my pen. _**

And all I know is you're cute when you scream.

You know that you are worthless  
And I am better than  
The games that you play princess.  
(I've played) and always win.+

"Ugh." Jazz threw the headphones aside, the CD still spinning in her portable CD player. "This stuff is awful! It's nothing but screaming." She frowned at the CD player, because not only was it annoying her, it wasn't helping her argument. If Sam and Danny thought this was cool, maybe Tucker's techno-geek stuff wasn't so scary after all. She couldn't believe those morons were waiting in line for tickets to an entire concert of this bilge. They'd even missed dinner; it was getting really late.

Letting the silence soothe her ears, she looked down at her paper. There was something else that wasn't helping her argument, but she tried to shove it to the back of her mind as she continued to write. It didn't matter that she didn't have a case study yet—there had to be _someone_ willing to talk to her. She'd start making calls to help centers tomorrow, and it was best to be prepared, so she made a list of questions, clinical, probing, unfeeling scientific questions.

_There are many stereotypes about suicidal teens—how they dress, what they do, what movies they like, what music they listen to. But for research purposes, an interview was conducted with a high-school student whose name will not be disclosed. When asked about the events leading to their suicide attempt, the media was not mentioned as a cause of depression…_

Then she gouged each question out with deep, dark pencil lines.

She was wrong. She was wrong about the newspaper and she was wrong about ghosts not existing and she was wrong about Johnny 13 and she was wrong about Danny—_so_ wrong about Danny, about the reasons for his unexplained absences and bouts of moodiness.

And she was wrong about Sam, because Sam _did_ listen to all that screaming music, and wore black clothes and dark makeup and raged against the machine. And Sam _had_ tried to end it all. Jazz had seen the proof on her pale wrists at the sink.

She was wrong. Wrong about everything; wrong all the time.

Crumpling up the paper in fury, she threw it in the trash can, then stuffed the rest of her notes on top of it. It felt liberating and reckless to do it—she'd never been so disrespectful of her schoolwork. That was Danny's job.

It was also Danny's job to clean up the kitchen this week, but it was obvious he hadn't done it. Glaring, Jazz realized that the trash can was overflowing. Just like he hadn't replaced the kitchen roll, Danny hadn't taken the garbage out either. Momentarily heartened by the simple big-sister pleasure of tattling on him, she stomped toward the living room, where her parents had been for the last half-hour. Risking being attacked by another one of their nets, lasers, or vacuum cleaners, Jazz strode to the center of the room.

"Mom! Dad! Danny hasn't been doing his chores, and I—"

"Just a second, Jazzie," Jack said, holding a hand up in a stop-right-there gesture. "Hold that thought. Ready, Maddie?"

It was then that Jazz realized they were waiting for something, staking out the front door as if they expected a ghost to phase through it at any second, but none of their crazy weapons were in sight.

Maddie's lips skinned back from her teeth in a bloodthirsty smile. "Five…four…three…two…one…"

The tumblers of the front door lock were pronounced in the silence. The door squeaked open and Danny slid inside, his stance tense, as if he were deliberately trying to be quiet. As soon as he shut the door, he sighed in relief.

"Daniel Fenton!" Maddie's voice cracked like a whip, and Danny spun, eyes wide beneath his dark bangs as he flattened himself back against the door.

"Busted!" Jack Fenton sang, grinning.

Danny groaned. "Oh, hell…"

Jazz raised an eyebrow at her parents. They looked gleeful, as if this was the highlight of their day.

Maddie stalked forward. "Where have you been, young man? It's nearly midnight."

"Give him hell, baby!" Jack encouraged. Jazz frowned at him.

Danny shuffled his feet, embarrassed at being caught. "Bucky's Music Megastore. Sam said they were selling tickets to the Senses Fail concert, and the line stretched all the way to Dimmsdale." His lower lip dropped in a pout, his bluesky eyes troubled. "Am I grounded?"

Jack and Maddie Fenton exchanged glances.

"Fenton Huddle."

As their parents conferred in hushed voices, Jazz took the opportunity to poke her finger into Danny's chest. "_You_ haven't been doing your chores, Danny. The kitchen is a wreck!"

"Chill out, Jazz." Danny rolled his eyes. "Apparently whatever crawled up your ass has pitched a tent."

"Did you get tickets to the concert?" Jack asked, interrupting.

Danny shook his head miserably. "No, they sold out."

Jack chuckled. "I think you've suffered enough, then."

"What!" Jazz exclaimed. "You're not going to _ground_ him?"

"Shut _up_, Jazz," Danny hissed, tensed for flight.

"But he stayed out till midnight!" Jazz stamped her foot. "And he hasn't been doing his chores—and—"

Maddie turned to Jazz. "Don't whine, Jazz, honey. We never ground you, either."

"I never _do_ anything that requires grounding!" Jazz retorted.

"Maybe that's why they don't ground you," Danny chuckled wickedly. "They feel sorry for you because you're so boring!"

"_Danny!_"

"Danny, you go to your room. You've got school in the morning," Maddie ordered. She didn't have to tell Danny twice—he shot out of the room and up the stairs.

"And the next time you come in after curfew without calling, you _will_ be grounded, young man!" Maddie called after him, red hair fanning over her shoulders as she turned.

"_Mom_!" Jazz whined, watching her brother escape.

"Jazz, go to your room. You've got school in the morning," Jack interjected, then grinned at his wife, shoving a gentle elbow into her side. Given his large frame, even a gentle elbow caused Maddie to stumble. "See, I can do that parenting thing, too."

Maddie frowned. "Jack, repeating everything I say is called 'cribbing', not 'parenting'."

It was obvious her parents' attention was elsewhere. Jazz sighed. It was so unfair that Danny wasn't in trouble, even if he didn't get a ticket to his stupid concert. It was totally stupid that _she _was going to have to go, when he couldn't even get a—

Struck by another one of her brilliant ideas, Jazz ran up the stairs. "Danny! Wait up!"

* * *

Danny was singing along with his radio when she forced his door open. 

_**"I won't forget the day that, that I came to and I started thinking that there's more than just perfect prom queens and silver spoons, and all I ever wanted was someone to knock me back to the bliss of ignorance, 'cause I feel like running head first into traffic…"&**_

She turned the volume down on his stereo. "Jeez, Danny. It's after midnight. Could you give it a rest?"

"You _still_ don't know how to knock, do you?" Danny regarded her coolly. "Look, I'm sorry about the kitchen, okay? I'll do it tomorrow."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," said Jazz, even though she really wasn't. "I'm sorry I told on you, and I'm sorry you didn't get a ticket to the concert. It sure is ironic that I have to go to it, you know, since you like them so much…"

"_You're _going! How did _you_ get Senses Fail tickets?" Danny demanded, coming to vibrant life as he shot off the bed. "It got sold out in a matter of seconds! We waited on line for hours!"

"It's called a perk, Danny," Jazz said, waving the ticket at him. "When you have to write a review of the show for the school newspaper, you need to go to the show. That's called a perk."

"I know what a _perk_ is, Jasmine," Danny seethed. "Why do _you_ get to go? You don't even _like_ Senses Fail."

_Snap_. The sound of the closing trap. Jazz waved the ticket again. "You could go in my place."

"Yeah, right. I'll owe you and you'll lord it over me until there's something you want. Thanks but no thanks." He folded his arms.

Wondering why she was bothering to be nice to such a little punk, she grit her teeth. "Really, Danny. Go. I want you to. All you have to do is tell me how it was so I can write a review."

Danny scowled, searching for the catch. "There's something to this."

Jazz played a last desperate card. "Sam's going," she said. "She has a ticket, right? They're all general admission. You can go with her. You'll have a way better time than I would."

Danny's icy eyes melted a little, and his sneer crumbled. Tucker was right—all you had to do was say 'Sam'.

"You really don't want it?"

"I hate those screaming bands, Danny. You know that." She teased the ticket in front of his nose. She knew she'd won but decided to press the advantage. "Ask Sam to go with you. This way, I'll still get my review done, and you get to spend the whole night with Sam. Everybody wins."

Danny took the ticket carefully, as if it would gain him entrance to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. "Wow. This is pretty cool of you, Jazz."

She rolled her eyes. "Just go call Sam, loser."

Danny waited two more seconds for the other shoe to drop, and when it didn't, bolted for the phone. She heard him talking excitedly as she walked down the hall to her own room.

_"Sam? Did I wake you up? Guess what—it looks like Tucker's on his own for the Fall Ball—I just scored a Senses Fail ticket!"_

Jazz smirked. As usual, her brother had played right into her hands.

_"Who cares how I got it? I'm awesome, that's all!"_

Jazz frowned.

* * *

Danny was wrong—Jazz knew how to knock. She rapped her knuckles lightly on Matt Prescott's locker the next day, causing him to look over at her. "Hi," she said, trying to be cool.

"Hey, Jazz." He brightened. "What's up?"

Crossing one leg behind the other girlishly, she fluttered her lashes and said, "Oh, well, nothing. I was just wondering if you still wanted company for the Fall Ball."

"Sure," he said, looking pleasantly surprised. "That'd be—that'd be great! But—I thought you had to write that concert review for the newspaper."

"Taken care of," Jazz said smoothly.

"Cool! How'd you manage to get out of it?"

She smiled silkily. "I rang Pavlov's bell."

Matt chuckled. "Okay, not sure I get it, but I'm glad you can come. We can even go out for something to eat before, you know, if you want. Or after. Or whatever."

He really was cute when he smiled. "I'd like that," Jazz said.

The bell rang. "Which way are you headed?"

Jazz checked her watch. "Psych. Second floor. Want to walk me?"

* * *

Despite her victory over Danny and the rescheduling of her date with Matt Prescott, Jazz's day didn't go as well as she'd planned. Regardless of shameless begging and an offer to do an extra ten pages on a different subject, Mr. Worth had vetoed her petition to change the focus of her paper, using the age-old teacher argument, "well, then I'd have to let everyone in the class do that". Being a warrior of age-old arguments herself, Jazz was furious to have her own weapons turned on her.

Danny, Sam and Tucker weren't in the kitchen when she got home, but she saw the signs of their passing—the breadbox was open, a bottle of cherry Coke was empty on the counter, and the kitchen roll had been refilled. Upon seeing the kitchen roll, Jazz glanced in panic to the garbage can. If Danny had thrown out her notes, she was dead—

But her brother's short attention span had come to her rescue. The trash can was still overflowing with empty boxes and crumpled paper, including her notes. Wrinkling her nose, she pulled the can to the center of the floor and began to pick out her papers one by one, recognizing each by what she had written.

After five minutes, she forgot about being meticulous and dumped the whole thing out onto the floor. Pawing through the trash like a raccoon, she heard a gasp come from her throat. "No way. No way! I threw them all in together!"

"Jazz? What's all the—eeh," Maddie said, coming into the kitchen to find her daughter sitting in the middle of a pile of garbage. Her mother cocked a brow. "Jazzie? Honey? Something you want to tell me?"

Jazz's heart sank. "Um—no, Mom. I'm just—cleaning."

Maddie glanced at the dry-erase board over the toaster oven. "Well, it's not your turn to clean the kitchen this week. You leave that for your brother. He's not getting out of his chores. Your father and I have our eyes on him."

Jazz was tempted to roll her own eyes, but she was far more worried about what lay on the floor in front of her—or rather, what didn't lay there. She had found every single page of her psychology notes except one—the crumpled page with her questions written on it. By the time the trash was back in the can and the kitchen cleaned, Jazz had looked through all of it twice and the result was the same. All of her research was there, but the last page, the one that had infuriated her so, was missing.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Ember never actually released an album on the show, but I thought the character was so cool that I had to give her a reference or two in the story. (grins) The first week I'm dead, I am so dressing like Ember and hitting every mosh pit in town. I figure it's good to have things to look forward to, even if you are dead.

I also don't know the name of the Casper High Newspaper (if there is one), so I just made one up.

The first time I ever got my heart broken by a boy (thanks be to evil spirits; it's been years and I'd _still_ love to sic Skulker on his ass) my father's girlfriend handed me a copy of _Women Who Love Too Much_. Being a devout follower of _Bridget Jones' Diary_, I looked at it and then at her, as if she couldn't possibly be serious. It remains on my shelf, collecting dust. Every so often I give it a panicked glance. I keep it in the room to remind me that there are worse things than being on your own.

Danny's never celebrated a birthday on the show that I know of, but I got this sudden mental picture of what that evening might be like, he and his best friends simply lounging and laughing late into the night. That incident with eating the cake out of the box with spoons actually happened to me Labor Day weekend—my best friend of thirteen years moved to California at the end of June. He came back for a surprise visit Labor Day weekend and we bought the Entemann's Marshmallow Iced Devil's Food Cake at the deli and got spoons from our other friends eating ice cream out front. Walking back to my house, we ate the cake out of the box with the spoons, complaining about how full we were, how disgusting we were to eat cake out of a box with spoons while walking, and how our lives had reached a new low. I hadn't laughed so hard in weeks. The next day felt horribly empty, but then I realized it was just the entire uncaring span of the distance between California and New York. I miss my friend.

On to cheerier topics. For anyone who doesn't know about Pavlov's bell, Ivan Pavlov studied conditioning by ringing a bell before placing meat powder beneath a dog's tongue, causing the dog to salivate. After repeating this process enough times, the dog salivated only at the sound of the bell, before even receiving the meat powder. This is what is known as a "conditioned reflex" in response to the stimulus. There's a cute little game about it on Music Megastore, like the Nasty Burger, is an actual locale in Amity Park—Ember gives concert tickets away there in one of my favorite episodes, "Fanning the Flames". Danny also says that the line at Bucky's was "all the way to Dimmsdale", which I'm sure most fans know is the hometown of more adorable Butch Hartman creations, Timmy Turner and his fairy godparents, Cosmo and Wanda. (grins) I love those guys.

What isn't an actual locale in Amity Park is the Downtown. The Downtown is a venue way out on the island where my best friend Shazz and I go to a lot of concerts...or we _used _to…they're closing it down! And now a moment of silence for the Downtown, where I met Duncan Sheik but he didn't help me de-ice my car, where I didn't get covered in Dave from Big D and the Kids' Table's blood at the Ska is Dead tour although I tried, where I finally saw Streetlight Manifesto after karma royal fuck deluxed me, where Shazz and I forever went to White Castle before I became a vegetarian…my own dear Downtown, may I honor it forever with a reference in this story. (pours a beer out for the Downtown.)

The line about Willy Wonka's chocolate factory is of course a reference to one of the greatest stories ever told, _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory _by Roald Dahl. Tim Burton's movie about it is very funny.

Jazz's "research" is all snips of things I found online at places like www.cdc.gov/ncipc, and www.nimh.nih.gov. I meant to include that last chapter.

Paulina's horoscope is taken from the web site for _Cosmopolitan _magazine.

Lastly, this whole chapter is a shameless plug for Senses Fail, which is one of my favorite bands. (smiles) I can just picture Danny and Sam in Danny's room, listening to punk rock music until Jazz shows up and yells at them to keep it down. I can picture Danny in a punk rock hoodie. (hearts in eyes) I don't own any lyrics by Senses Fail, but they are featured in this chapter: Jazz is listening to "Cute When You Scream" (marked by +) in the kitchen on her headphones; when she goes upstairs to confront Danny, he's listening to "Angela Baker And My Obsession With Fire" (marked by &), which can both be found on the album "Let It Enfold You".


	4. Chance of Rain

**Author's Introduction:**

Thanks so much to all my reviewers! I really appreciate how constructive and kind everyone is.

Okay, so Jazz was able to get rid of her concert ticket, trick Danny into eventually helping her write her review, and get a date for the Fall Ball. Everything would be perfect if she could just find her missing psychology notes. Where could they have gone?

**Obligatory disclaimer: **Money can't buy Vlad Maddie's love, it can't buy the Packers, and it can't buy me Danny Phantom—although I've tried. I also don't own any elements of the Switchfoot song "Stars" that opens this chapter and can be found on the album "Nothing Is Sound".

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Four: Chance of Rain

* * *

**

_Maybe I've been the problem, maybe I'm the one to blame_

_But even when I turn it off and blame myself, the outcome feels the same_

_I've been thinking maybe I've been partly cloudy, maybe I'm the chance of rain_

_And maybe I'm overcast_

_And maybe all my luck's washed down the drain_

**_(Stars, _Switchfoot)

* * *

**

Jazz tossed and turned all night, visions of red 'F's dancing in her head. In nightmare after nightmare she searched for her missing page of notes, confronted with the standard bad-dream sentinels of doors that wouldn't open and drawers that wouldn't shut, ending at last in front of a closet full of jumpsuits exactly like her mother's and the Fenton Ghost Gabber on a high shelf endlessly repeating, "I am your future. Fear me."

She woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering beneath the freshman-year Casper High gym shirt she wore to sleep.

It didn't make any sense. All of the notes were in the trash can where she'd left them, all but one. And that page hadn't even been on top of the bin—she'd thrown that page in first and stuffed the others on top of it. Someone searching through the bin would have had to go looking for that page to find it. Someone had taken that specific page on purpose, but why? Why?

It had to have been someone in the Fenton house. No one else had gone in or out since the day before, of that much Jazz was sure. Since she lived in a rogue's gallery, she had no trouble making a list of suspects.

Jack or Maddie might have seen it and read all the questions on it—questions a suicidal kid might ask themselves to weigh the pros and cons of suicide. To an overdramatic parent, it would definitely have looked bad.

But her parents weren't exactly the most attentive parents in the entire world. They didn't even know that Danny was half-ghost, for crying out loud. They wouldn't make the mental leap from Jazz's suicide-paper notes to a reason for a parental freak-out. And they would never suspect her of being suicidal. Besides, every book and every article she'd read about suicidal teens listed similar signs, and she didn't exhibit any of the signs.

That left Danny, and he knew she was writing the paper and what it was about. He had no reason to sabotage it.

Or did he?

She _had_ told on Danny to her parents the night he'd come in after curfew, and he hadn't been too happy about it. Plus, Jazz was always getting good grades, while Danny's were less than stellar.

Then she shook the possibility out of her head. Her brother would never do a thing like that, no matter what fights they had. Plus, they'd been getting along so well lately—he'd taken the concert ticket and agreed to help her write her review, she'd helped him patch up his disagreement with Sam—

Sam.

Jazz's memory flashed back to the Sam's pale scars, to her shocked, angry eyes. Danny had been so defensive when she'd made fun of Sam; they were so protective of each other. He knew, Jazz thought. He knew about Sam's scars and taking her notes was his way of warning Jazz to back off.

Fully awake now, she threw the covers back and jumped out of bed. It was nine A.M. on a Saturday, way too early to be barging into Danny's room, but this was an emergency. "Danny, I have to talk to you—"

Her brother was sprawled on his still-made bed, snoring. He was still wearing the jeans and the army-green t-shirt he'd worn the day before, and his Converse All-Stars were still on his feet. Jazz noticed dust on his cheek and in his hair; a scraped knee was visible through the torn leg of his jeans.

What the hell had happened to him last night?

She shook her brother's shoulder, her voice far softer than she had intended when she'd come in. "Danny. Hey, Danny."

He stirred, batting at her hands weakly, caught in the place between sleep and waking. "No. No…leave me alone…"

"Danny. Danny, it's Jazz. Danny!" She shook him harder.

He blinked, his blue eyes opening. "Jazz? How'd you get in here?"

"I'm asking the questions," she said, but not unkindly. "Why are you all dirty? How'd you scrape your knee? Why are you still in your clothes from yesterday?"

"I'll take 'None Of Your Business' for a thousand, Alex," Danny yawned, rolling over so he wasn't facing her anymore. "I'm okay, Jazz. It's clotting."

Jazz wrinkled her nose. "Ew." Now that he was facing away from her, she could see a bruise on the back of his upper arm beneath his short sleeve, as if someone—or something—had grabbed him by the arm and squeezed.

She wanted to reach for her brother, to hug him and tell him she was proud of him, that all the cuts and bruises were worth it in the end. But she couldn't. She had no idea what the entire truth was, and he didn't want her knowing, or else he'd have told her already. It was so hard not to show how hurt she was by his silence.

Her head ached with everything she didn't know, so she decided to stick with what she did know. She reached for his shoulder again.

"Danny, listen to me. In the trash can in the kitchen—"

Danny's groan was muffled by the pillows. "Come on, Jazz, I'll do it this afternoon!"

"No, Danny, there were some notes in there for my psychology paper. I—I threw them out by mistake. I got most of them out, but the last page is missing. I really need it."

"It's got to be somewhere." Danny rolled over again and opened one eye. "Wait a minute, _you_ threw out your own homework?"

Sometimes Danny was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. "I _said_ it was a mistake. And you were supposed to take out the trash—"

Danny yawned, stretching flat on his back once more. "I know, I'm sorry already. I'll do it this afternoon, I said."

Jazz clamped her lips together. "No, Danny, you're not listening to me. I know you're worried about Sam, but I promise not to upset her. Just please give me back my notes."

Danny propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at her. "Jazz, what the hell are you talking about? What do you mean, I'm worried about Sam?" Both eyes shot open. "_Should_ I be worried? What do you know?"

Exasperated, Jazz brought a hand to her forehead. "Fine. Be cagey. I don't care, Danny, I just want my notes back."

"I don't have your stupid notes!"

"Danny, I'm not kidding—"

A rattling sound from the window stalled the argument; both siblings turned to see the prongs of a ladder, clearly visible at the sill. A sleepy smile curled Danny's lips and he sat completely upright. "Hi, Sam."

Sam appeared at the top of the ladder, her combat boots loud on the rungs. "Hey, Danny—Jazz!" Her warm greeting turned into surprise, and she fell the rest of the way into the room. "What are you doing here?" she asked from the floor.

"I should be asking _you_ that! Where'd you get the ladder?" Jazz pointed accusingly at Sam. "And why are you using it to climb into my brother's room at nine in the morning on a Saturday?"

Sam hauled herself up from the floor. She brushed imaginary dust off her third plaid skirt of the week. Today's colors were green and purple beneath a black tank top. "I'll take 'Mind Your Own Business' for eight hundred, Alex."

Danny flopped back to the pillows. "Get out of my brain, Sam." He blinked, then added, "Get out of my room, Jazz."

Jazz frowned. She couldn't bring up the missing notes again while Sam was in the room. "What about telling me how you got those scrapes and bruises?"

Sam hopped onto Danny's bed, bouncing on the mattress. "It's cool, Jazz. Danny and I were racing our motor scooters last night, and he sucks at it so he fell at the edge of the boulevard. No big."

"I don't suck." Danny smiled into his pillow. "Sam cheats."

Jazz looked at Sam's smile and knew she was lying. Danny had been out fighting ghosts again, had crawled home bloodied and exhausted to collapse into bed, and now Sam, like a good soldier, was here to protect him from prying eyes and leading questions. Jazz felt like a bully.

"Rise and shine," Sam said, taking Danny's hands and pulling him off the bed and to his feet. "Up, up, up."

Danny groaned, draping his arms over Sam's shoulders, a human coat for the goth girl. "What time are we meeting Tucker?"

"In two hours at the multiplex, so into the shower with you." Sam hooked her chin over his forearm.

"Well, gee, Mom…" Danny chuckled as Sam led him out of the room.

Jazz hurried into the hallway after them. "Hey, you," she said, grabbing Sam's shoulder before she marched Danny into the bathroom. "You stay out here while he showers."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Grow up, Jazz." To Danny she said, "I'm going to make toast. Want some?"

"Love some," Danny said as he closed the door. "You're the best, Sammy!"

Sam rolled her eyes, but smiled. She turned to Jazz. "Want some toast?"

Jazz couldn't believe it. "…Toast?..."

"Yeah. Toast. It's bread, only burned. Want some?" Sam asked, as if she were dealing with someone a little slow to catch on.

The toast wasn't what Jazz was having a problem with. What was bothering her was how normal Sam was acting—for Sam. Jazz knew her secret now, and she was talking about breakfast.

Just like Danny, Jazz realized with a sickening start. Sam was pretending she didn't have a secret, and Jazz was pretending she didn't know the secret.

"Welcome to the family," she murmured. "Let's go get some toast."

* * *

High school, like the Serengeti, had two opposing factions: predators and prey. Casper High was no different. At any given moment of any given school day, one could see examples of either faction in the labyrinthine hallways (where _Dashus_ _Bastardus_ could often be seen shoving a nameless _Freshmanus_ _Victimus_ into a locker), the urban jungle of the cafeteria (where _Beauteous_ _Vapidus_ and her various satellites held court at their table in the center of the room) or the savage garden of the quad (where _Gothicus_ _Succubus_, _Technicus_ _Geekimus_, and _Fentonus_ _Spiritus_ sometimes chose to take their lunch, trying to lay low and avoid the ever-sweeping radar of Casper High's biggest predator, _Lancerus_ _Maximus_). 

All this had occurred many a time before the watchful eye (but never interfering hands) of Casper High's very own sociologist, _Jazzus_ _Observerus_.

Being smarter than the average Casper High student, Jazz had often seen herself as a teenage Jane Goodall, prowling the hallways and studying the strange pack behavior of the kids around her. This particular Wednesday proved to be no different. For instance, right now she was watching Dash and Kwan stick a sign on the back of an unsuspecting Nathan. However, instead of the usual "Kick Me" sign, this one said, "Go Ravens" in celebration of Spirit Week. Jazz blinked, realizing how distracted she'd been lately.

The Casper High Ravens had spent the majority of last season getting their asses kicked by every team in the league. It was customary to open the season with a thrashing by the neighboring champions at Spellman High, the ironically named Spellman Specters. Jazz often wondered if that was why they threw the Fall Ball every year—so the team could lick their wounds and try to forget that homecoming was never much of a celebration.

In all of Jazz's years at Casper High, the Ravens had never beaten the Specters. She was pretty sure it had been like that for a long time before she'd ever attended the school. But she almost liked it better that way—if the Ravens won against the Specters, there'd be no reason to have the annual pre-game pep rally, which got bigger and bigger every year and was sort of looked upon as an unofficial school holiday. The Ravens-Specters game was on Friday; the pep rally was held on the Thursday before.

Annoyed with herself for allowing her stress to get to her, Jazz's face darkened like the storm clouds that had been gathering outside the window since the weekend. Paulina and her major satellite, a blonde named Star who had a cute and sunny voice to match her Walt Disney cartoon name, had their perfect noses pressed to the glass as they watched the clouds boil on the horizon.

"But it can't rain on pep rally day, it just can't," Star wailed, hands rising to her cheeks in horror, as if someone had told her there would be no Christmas this year.

"Pep rally's not until tomorrow. Maybe the forecast will clear up by then," Paulina said hopefully. "I've got the most wonderful idea for our skit!"

In all the recent stress, Jazz had forgotten about the pep rally. Usually she tried to participate in some way, even if it was something small and simple like adding to the decorations (one of her previous year's posters was still hanging near the trophy case—a poster board with a black felt raven and the words "Casper High, We've Got The Spirit!" written in glitter pen) but she'd been so busy this semester that she hadn't had time.

Most of the Casper High students enjoyed the seasonal Spirit Weeks scattered throughout the year—kids like Dash and Kwan got to flex their muscles, girls like Paulina and Star got to be in the middle of a crowd of adoring students—but the Casper High attendee who enjoyed Spirit Week most of all was Mr. Lancer. Pep rally attendance was voluntary, but Lancer cheerfully made it mandatory in the case of misbehaving students, his creativity coming alive as he doled out punishments that forced school spirit into even the most gloomy of kids. Jazz remembered last semester's rally—Tucker and Danny had been unwilling tackling dummies for a demonstration by the entire football team while Sam was forced to sell refreshments—cheeseburgers and hot dogs. A strict ultra-recyclo vegetarian, Sam was nearly green with nausea by the end of the rally, while Tucker and Danny were black and blue.

As Jazz watched, the man in question stopped Paulina. "I must say, Paulina, I was very impressed by your idea for the pep rally this semester. It's good to see you taking such an interest not only in Casper High, but in Amity Park's current events as well."

At the mention of current events, Jazz had to wonder: just what had Paulina come up with?

"Thank you, Mr. Lancer," Paulina trilled. "I only hope we can get enough people to participate!"

Lancer's eyes glinted, a smile of absolute wickedness curling his lips. "Not to worry. I'm sure I'll find a few…volunteers."

A chill shook Jazz's senses and she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall. _Danny, Sam, Tucker…be good this week. For the love of God, please be good!..._

A hand fell on her shoulder, jarring her back to the waking world.

"Jasmine Fenton," Lancer said as she whirled to face him. "Just the person I wanted to speak to. I know I can always count on you to bring spirit to our pep rallies…"

And just like that, the observer became the prey.

"I can't be in any skits," Jazz immediately protested without thinking.

Lancer chuckled. It was probably supposed to sound warm and comforting, but instead it came out like a comic-opera villain's laugh. "Oh, Jazz. I would never waste your talents in something as paltry as a skit."

Jazz arched an auburn brow. "My talents?"

"Your ability to reach the student body," Mr. Lancer said smoothly. "No one can whip them into a spirited frenzy quite like you can. We saw that at our last pep rally."

Jazz pursed her lips. Her psychology teacher wanted her to dissect the student body. The newspaper editor thought she wasn't reaching them. Now Lancer was insisting she was the best at it.

Her head hurt.

"Mr. Lancer, I've got a huge psychology paper…"

Making up excuses wasn't one of Jazz's strong points, although she'd improved slightly with all the practice she was getting keeping her parents away from the "ghost kid". Still, she wished Danny, Sam or Tucker—the king, queen and duke of making up excuses—were around to give her some pointers. She couldn't even come up with a halfway decent reason not to participate in a school pep rally, but her brother and his friends could take an explanation involving meteorites, cherry Coke, and the First Amendment and come up with something that actually made sense.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Lancer?" Matt Prescott walked up to them, mercifully interrupting. His trusty Nikon F5 was around his neck, hanging from a strap that read "Casper High - Go Ravens!" on it. Jazz remembered those from her very first Spirit Week freshman year. She'd tied her strap into a bow and kept her car keys on it now.

"Matt. I understand you take pictures for the yearbook." Lancer turned his attention to Matt. Jazz smiled at him.

"Yes, sir. I also take the pictures for the newspaper." Matt was the kind of guy who was just polite to everybody, called them "sir" or "ma'am" as the situation warranted, always used someone's full name until he'd received permission from them to use a nickname. Jazz liked that about him. It was comforting that chivalry wasn't entirely dead.

Lancer steepled his fingers with the casual air of a megalomaniac. "Ah, yes, which brings us to the reason I called you out here. Mr. Wat and I had an...exchange of ideas..."

Read: argument, Jazz thought.

"...regarding your participation in this semester's pep rally. Of course we'll want pictures from the rally for the yearbook, and while I understand the _Invisible Ink_ is just as important a part of the school as, oh, say, the trophies in the trophy case..."

Jazz and Matt exchanged small smiles. It was obvious which part of the school Lancer thought was more important. Mr. Lancer, Casper High's biggest, baldest cheerleader.

"...I must say that the student body will want to see their star running back in full uniform on that field...weather permitting..." The last was a grumble, and Lancer glared towards the window. He seemed as upset about the inclement weather as Paulina and Star had been.

"Well, of course, sir. Anything for the team, sir, but a commitment is a commitment..." Matt shrugged, not sure what to say. Jazz smiled. He was almost as good at spouting counselor catch-phrases as she was.

It was a good argument, and Jazz respected it, but Matt was going to lose. It was hard to stop Lancer from getting his way once he got on one of his Spirit Week crusades.

And then, just in the nick of time, like always, the Only Normal Fenton had a brainwave. And, like most of her good ideas, it served more than one useful purpose.

"I can help," she cut in smoothly. "Would that be okay, Mr. Lancer?"

"What do you propose, Jazz?" Lancer became all business now that his waxing poetic about the football team had been interrupted.

Boldly, Jazz seized Matt's camera strap and carefully took it from around his neck. Holding it up, she said, "I can take the pictures for the newspaper and the yearbook while Matt participates in the rally with the rest of the team. That way everything gets done the way it's supposed to. I'm sure we'll have to ask Mr. Wat if that's okay, but it shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Lancer frowned, eyebrows working. Jazz could tell he was looking for a hole in her logic and couldn't find one. "I was looking forward to another of your enthralling speeches, Jazz."

The funny part was that he seemed serious about that. "I don't mind taking pictures, Mr. Lancer. It's good for all of us to expand our horizons," she added with happy inspiration, cribbing from Mr. Wat's speech to her about changing the way she wrote her newspaper articles. "It might do me well to see things from...another perspective." She punctuated this by looking through the camera's viewfinder at Lancer and taking a picture.

Blinking away the afterimages of the flash, Lancer nodded grudgingly. "All right, I'll clear this with Mr. Wat. Please show up promptly at 3 tomorrow for the rally, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Jazz and Matt answered, then exchanged a blush and smile almost worthy of Danny and Sam.

Jazz let out a sigh of relief as Lancer walked away from them. "Sorry about that," she said to Matt, handing him back his camera.

"Are you kidding? You just saved the day," he joked, advancing the camera. "Thanks, Jazz."

"Don't thank me. I just took a rather awful picture on your camera..."

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, he can be scary sometimes. We'll use it for the Halloween issue."

"If the picture even came out," Jazz added. "I should have probably told Lancer that I have no idea how to use that thing."

Matt smiled. "It's easy. I'll show you." He glanced at his watch. "Do you have fifteen minutes or so? I could show you right now."

"Don't you have practice?" Jazz asked.

"Yeah, but I can be a little late." He smiled at her, then added. "You're always saving the day, Jazz. Are you some kind of super hero or something?"

"I'm no hero," Jazz sighed. "That's my brother."

* * *

If the sun rose on Pep Rally Thursday, it was hidden behind a mask of clouds that began to pour rain right before lunch. This meant bad news for a lot of people. 

It was bad news for any P.E. classes held that day, because they were trapped in the gym and forced to play dodge ball, the worst of all indoor sports.

It was bad news for anyone participating in the pep rally, because now it was going to be held in the gym, rather than out on the field.

It was bad news for Danny, Tucker and Sam, because they were stuck in the cafeteria during lunch, and therefore unable to avoid Lancer, who was all too happy to deal his three favorite troublemakers a pep rally-related punishment.

Jazz found this last part out as she headed towards the gym doors at the final bell. The three ghostketeers were gathered at Sam's nearby locker, looking glum.

"Hi, guys," she said, walking over to them.

"Hey," Danny said, looking up from a white sheet he was holding folded over one arm. "What's the camera for?"

Jazz held it up and looked at him through the viewfinder. "I'm the official Casper High photographer for the day. I'm taking pictures for the yearbook and the newspaper. How do I look?" She pressed the shutter, snapping a picture.

"Like a big flash going off in my face." Danny blinked. "Ow."

"Since when do you take pictures for the newspaper, Jazz?" Tucker asked. "I thought you wrote reviews on movies and books no one's ever heard of."

Jazz took a minute to frown at that. "I'm helping Matt Prescott. He's the official photographer, but since he's on the football team, he can't be in two places at once."

"Matt Prescott?" Sam asked, penciling more black eyeliner under one eye, then blinking at her reflection in her locker mirror, which was full-length and barely fit inside the locker door. "Isn't he the senior with the big guns and the nice smile?"

Jazz couldn't help but smile a little herself. "Yeah, that's him."

"Jazz has a crush," Tucker teased. He had another white sheet in his lap and a pair of scissors in his hands, sitting Indian-style on the tiled floor.

"Jazz has a _date_ for the Fall Ball, Tucker," Jazz sniped back. "Something I'm pretty sure _you_ don't have yet."

Tucker pouted. "I'm _working_ on it!"

"His 'guns' aren't so big," Danny said, looking at his own arms. He sounded a little jealous. "Since when do you like football players, Sam?"

"I like _nice_ guys," Sam corrected him, smudging her purple eyeshadow.

"Jeez, Sam. Where do you get your makeup, Sales From the Crypt?" Tucker quipped, cutting a round hole out of the sheet in his lap. "I don't know why you're even bothering to make yourself up like that. No one's going to see you under these stupid things anyway."

"You could get to Wonderland through that mirror, Sam," Danny laughed, looking over the goth's shoulder at their reflections. "It's huge!"

"Most people just get a magnetic mirror," Tucker said.

"Well, that's our Sam," Danny said, a little admiringly. "Always different."

Sam blushed, giving Danny a smile. "Want to try?" she asked.

"Try what?"

"Try to go to Wonderland." Sam leaned back against the mirror.

Danny laughed. "No, thanks. The last time I fell through a mirror, it wasn't such a good time."

They laughed, and Jazz wasn't sure why it was funny. She figured it was some ghost joke that she wasn't supposed to know existed. She pushed it to the back of her mind, irritated by the shared secrets she had no part of.

"Anywhere would be better than here." Sam sighed and closed the locker, turning back towards the boys. "How do I look?"

Tucker handed a sheet up to Danny, who grinned and threw it over Sam. "_Boo_-tiful."

Sam kicked out from beneath the sheet, her boot connecting solidly with Danny's shin. "I _hate_ you."

"_Ow_!"

Jazz watched this exchange with a cocked eyebrow. "Okay, I thought maybe I could guess, but I'm just going to ask. What are the sheets for?"

Sam pulled her sheet off, mussing her hair. "Paulina's stupid _skit_."

Danny chuckled bitterly. "Don't you know? We're the Spellman Specters."

Jazz touched one of the sheets with her toe. "Don't go home dressed like that, or Dad will blast you all the way to Kenosha."

"I'd rather be blasted to Kenosha," Danny said. "I can think of ten places I'd rather be right now, and three of them involve me being on fire."

"Dare I ask why you guys are in the skit?" Jazz asked. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you didn't volunteer."

Tucker pointed at Sam, Sam pointed at Danny, Danny pointed at Tucker.

Jazz expelled air through her nose. "Never mind. I think I should just be glad no one was hurt."

"It's no one's fault," Danny sighed. "There just isn't a god. Lancer would have nailed us for anything he could think of. He was dying to get us to participate in this stupid thing."

"It wouldn't kill you guys to have a little school spirit," Jazz said loftily, which earned her glares from the three younger kids.

"That remains to be seen," Sam said darkly, taking her sheet up again.

Jazz stamped her foot. "You're always so _negative_. Why can't you just look on the bright side for once?"

Sam looked a little taken aback, but Danny stepped in to save the conversation. "Trust me, Jazz, when you see what we've got to go through out there, you'll realize there's no bright side to this." He punctuated it with a grin, and Jazz felt her irritation fizzle away. That was Danny, always ready with a smile or a joke, no matter what armies were approaching to the north.

"Maybe Jazz is right," Sam said, shocking the assembled party further. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Jazz smiled at Sam. "See, there you—"

"We die horribly, and then it's over." Sam finished her own sentence with a shrug, and Jazz's smile flipped to a frown. But it earned Sam laughter from the boys, and she basked happily in it. Jazz was jealous—how could they be so happy when the chips were so obviously down?

"Get together," she said suddenly, raising the camera.

Danny looked over at her. "What?"

"Get together," Jazz repeated, waving the camera. "I'll take a picture."

"You're supposed to be taking pictures of the rally," Tucker said.

"Right. That means I can take pictures of people who are participating in the rally. That means you guys."

"We're participating under extreme protest," Sam joked. "We don't count."

"Of _course_ you count," Jazz said, more fiercely than she'd intended, maybe because it was Sam who said it. "You count. Now get in close."

Danny and Tucker each looped an arm around Sam, and as Jazz centered them in the viewfinder she thought they were already as close as any friends could get.

"Perfect. That's perfect." She smiled and lowered the camera. "That's going to come out great."

"I can see the headline now. 'Picture of the three teens moments before the pep rally that caused their deaths'," Tucker joked.

Jazz arched a brow. "How bad is Paulina's skit?"

"Bad," all three teens said.

Jazz tilted her head in thought. "How bad?"

"Paying ten bucks to see _The Matrix: Revolutions_ bad," Tucker said.

"Ashlee Simpson on _SNL_ bad," Danny said.

"Two seasons of _The Simple Life_ bad," Sam said.

Jazz's eyes widened. "That does sound bad."

"Oh, you'll see," Tucker chortled eerily. "You'll see."

"It could be worse," Danny said, pulling the sheet over his head. "At least no one can tell who we are in these things. Come on, Sammy, I'll race you." Danny gave Sam a push and ran through the gym doors.

"No fair! You cheated!" Sam squealed, giving chase, her own sheet folded over her arm.

Tucker groaned. "If they don't hook up before we graduate, I'm going to owe a lot of people a lot of money."

"You've got semesters and semesters of pep rallies to go before then," Jazz murmured, watching them go through the gym doors.

"Yeah, don't remind me." Tucker pulled his own sheet over his head.

"They say high school is the best years of your life, Tucker," she said absently, still looking at the gym doors.

Tucker's sheet was misshapen over his trademark red hat. "You volunteered to be at this thing, right, Jazz?"

It was weird to talk to a sheet with eye holes, but Jazz nodded. "Yeah. Well, sort of. Yes."

"We didn't. But here we all are, in the same place."

And with that, he turned and walked through the doors, sheet and all.

* * *

If you had a camera around your neck, everyone suddenly found reasons to be standing right in front of you. Jazz had to elbow aside two cheerleaders, a few members of the chess club, and the mascot before she could get a clear shot of Mr. Lancer at the podium, trying to "whip the students into a spirited frenzy" as he so put it. 

"You are all aware of the long-term rivalry between your beloved Casper High Ravens—" Lancer gave the crowd a minute to cheer and stomp their feet on the bleachers. "—and the odious Spellman Specters. I firmly believe it is your continuing and increasing school spirit that has allowed our Ravens to get closer and closer to victory each year!"

More cheering. Jazz rolled her eyes as she moved to a low seat on the bleachers near center court. She wondered exactly how much spirit it was going to take in order for the Ravens to even beat the spread against the Specters, let alone win a game.

"And now, for your entertainment: a skit by your fellow students, engineered by the lovely Paulina!"

Paulina took her place at the center of the gym floor, sporting a cheerleading uniform, complete with cranberry and white pom-poms. Paulina wasn't actually a cheerleader—she thought the dark wine color clashed with her supposedly "flawless" complexion, but she didn't seem too upset to be wearing the uniform now. She gave the crowd the Queen's Wave, dimpling and posing. "Hi everyone!"

"We love you, Paulina!" the crowd dutifully called.

"I know!" the queen of Casper High sang back, then started her act—badly.

"Oh, my. Look at all these people! They must be as excited for the Ravens-Specters game as I am!" She waved her pom-poms, and the audience took their cue and whooped it up.

Paulina's mouth turned down in an exaggerated frown. "Ohhh," she moaned. "That was a _weak_ cheer! Maybe they _aren't_ as excited as I am!" She put a hand to her ear and popped a hip, inviting another cheer, which the crowd gave, much louder this time.

"Muuuuch betterrrrrr," Paulina approved, arms akimbo. "With cheers like that, we'll have no problem beating those Specters!"

Hearing their cue, the sheeted kids raced onto center court, surrounding Paulina.

"Wooooooooo," the Tucker-sheet howled, running up and tickling Paulina's bare midriff. She swatted at him, stepping clumsily away. Her look of frightened disgust probably wasn't acting, Jazz thought. Poor Tucker, but it served him right.

"Whaaaat heeeee saaaaaaid," Danny-sheet echoed, grabbing Paulina's shoulders from behind and shaking them. She yipped, breaking away from him, but she didn't look angry. Jazz reasoned that was part of the act. She gave her brother credit for not trying to cop a feel, which was more than could be said for Tucker.

The last sheet stomped Paulina's foot as she went by—hard.

"_Ow_," Paulina shrieked, finally breaking character and scowling. "You did that on _purpose_, Samantha Manson!"

"_Boo_!" Sam-sheet cackled, completely unpenitent.

As if suddenly remembering she was in public, Paulina fell nervously back into character, glaring at the Sam-sheet. "Ohhh, no!" she cried. "_Ghosts_! Are _these_ the Spellman Specters?"

"We've coooommme to sabotage your team's wiiiiinning streeeeaak," said Tucker-sheet.

"Which is juuuuuuust as invisible as weeeee arrrreeee," Danny-sheet joked.

There was some laughter from the crowd. Lancer frowned; obviously that hadn't originally been Danny's line.

"We are masters of all things spectral and intangible! Beware our ghostly wraaaaaath," Sam-sheet said as they circled Paulina like sheeted sharks. "_Beware_!"

Danny-sheet chuckled, for some reason Jazz couldn't place. Another inside joke, she assumed. Now was not the time to get upset about it.

"Oh no!" Paulina cried, raising her hands to her cheeks in badly-acted horror. "Who will _save_ me?"

Hearing their cue, the football team rushed out to wild cheers from the crowd, one line of five from each locker room door. They worked the crowd for a minute, pumping their fists in the air and posing. When the applause died down, Paulina jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

"Hooray! It's the Casper High Ravens! If anyone can beat these evil Specters, it's them!"

"Ten to three? Those odds _suck_!" Tucker-sheet said.

"This whole _thing_ sucks," Danny-sheet agreed.

Sam-sheet had the last word. "Gives new meaning to the phrase, 'I'm surrounded by idiots'."

Lancer was definitely not happy with the ad-libbing; it was easy to tell by his expression. The student body found it amusing, however, judging by the scattered giggles and snorts.

"Ten to three?" Jazz wondered aloud. Hours of watching the Packers play on Vlad Masters' big screen had taught her more than she'd ever cared to know about football. "But football teams have eleven players on the field at a time."

Paulina gave Jazz the answer in her next plywood sentence: "But who will _lead_ this group of mighty warriors? Where is your _quarterback_?"

On cue, Dash Baxter swung to center court on one of the ropes used for the P.E. climbing exercises, dressed not in a football uniform, but as—

"_Inviso__-Bill_!" Paulina cheered. "My hero!"

"Ugh!" Jazz couldn't hold back her disgust, but it was lost in the cheers of the crowd. Dash was wearing a white wig and a black track suit. He didn't really look like Danny Phantom, but the effect was enough.

"Yayyyy!" the crowd roared. Apparently "Inviso-Bill"—god, what an awful name!—was finally gaining popularity around Amity Park. It was about time, Jazz thought smugly. He only saved the city from various ghost-related mishaps about three times a week or so.

But her smile faltered almost immediately as she looked around. They weren't really cheering for Danny Phantom. They were cheering for a dumb quarterback jerk in a bad costume, while the real hero was covered by a sheet at center court, his face as well as his identity hidden from the crowd.

"_Boo_," Sam-sheet hissed, but she wasn't pretending to be a ghost. Apparently she found the whole thing distasteful, too. Jazz wasn't surprised—Sam's love was bloodthirsty, and she took the slings and arrows of Danny's unfair world just as personally as if they were aimed at her. Right now she and Tucker had stepped closer to Danny, flanking him as the cheers grew louder.

Jazz was suddenly, fiercely proud of her brother and his friends. In Casper High's war between predators and prey, they were definitely the prey; however, they went not like lambs to the slaughter, but like tigers. Together they battled, and together they suffered. The football team could have probably learned a thing or two about teamwork from the kids they were about to torture.

"You spooks are goin' _down_!" Inviso-Dash crowed.

"Oh no," Danny-sheet said boredly. "Help. What ever will we do." He had backed closer to his sheeted friends until all three were standing in a huddle.

Kwan had the "Let's Go Ravens" banner that had spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday hanging over the gym doors in his hands. He passed it back along his line and around to the other line until every player was holding a section of sign.

"_Red fourteen!__ Red fourteen! Go—go—**go**_!" Inviso-Dash ordered.

The team sprang into action, running circles around the sheeted teens until Danny, Sam and Tucker were tied together back to back with the banner. A roar rippled through the crowd; many of them got to their feet with excitement. Jazz remained seated. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"My heroes!" Paulina cried, hugging Dash around the neck. "Thank you, Ravens! Thank you, Inviso-Bill!"

"The irony of this is just sickening," Danny-sheet said glumly.

"Cheer up, Danny," Tucker-sheet said. "At least you can say you got to hit the sheets with Sam."

"Tucker!" the other two sheets yelled in embarrassment, but they needn't have worried. Only Jazz was close enough to hear their "lines" now in the midst of all the cheering.

Dash was grinning at Paulina. "Hey, baby. How about you and I ride off into the sunset?"

Paulina was jerked back to reality; she shoved Dash away, hard. "Get real! You're only _pretending _to be Inviso-Bill, so I'm only _pretending_ I want to be within ten feet of you!"

Lancer had had enough; he slammed his hand down on the podium and roared into the microphone. "The next person who ad-libs a line is getting detention for a week!"

* * *

The crowd seemed to carry Jazz out into the hallway like the tide. More than half the school had attended the rally—the best turnout in a long time—and bodies pressed together on their slow way out, a human traffic jam. Scouting over the various heights and heads for anyone she knew, Jazz saw Matt in his jersey and waved to him. 

"Your camera!" Jazz called, trying to keep her head above…water.

"Just hang on to it!" Matt laughed, being swept away by the human waves. "I'll call you later!"

Happy to have an excuse to get a phone call from him, Jazz laughed too. "Okay!"

Since they would all be leaving at the same time, she had decided to wait for her brother and his friends. After the awful trauma they'd gone through, she figured they at least deserved a ride home.

Unfortunately, waiting across the gym doors meant that she had a front-row seat to the Dash and Paulina Show.

"So, do you like quarterbacks?" Dash was asking, still in his costume and still trying to sling an arm around Paulina.

Paulina rolled her eyes. "Clothes do not make the man, my friend. You are _so_ not Inviso-Bill. You have _noooooo_ shot at me."

Dash pulled at the jacket of his black track suit. "Come on, don't you think I look just like Inviso-Bill?"

Jazz was saved from having to hear any more of this exchange by the arrival of Danny, Sam and Tucker. They looked tired but amiable, their humiliation over for now.

"You guys were great," Jazz said cheerfully.

They all regarded her with raised eyebrows.

Jazz sighed. "Okay. You guys were right. It was really bad and painful to watch."

"We told you," Tucker said. "And you got to record it all on a thirty-six exposure roll."

Jazz smiled. "I'll drive you guys home."

"Sounds good," Danny sighed, stretching his arms over his head. "I could use a nap."

"Wait," Sam said. "If Jazz is driving us home, I need something from my locker. I'll just be a second." She turned in a swirl of hair and skirt.

Danny sidled against the wall, moving further down the hall. Jazz could see he was trying to be casual—he wasn't looking directly at Sam, but at her reflection in the full-length mirror as her locker door swung open.

"Fine!" Dash was saying to Paulina. "I wouldn't even want to be confused with that ghost kid. I'm _way _cooler than Inviso-Bill anyway!"

"I wish someone would cut that guy down to size," Tucker said, frowning at the display.

For a minute, Jazz thought they were still in the skit, because a green bolt sizzled from the vicinity of the gym doors, leaving a faint scent of ozone in its wake and slapping Dash aside as if he were an action figure.

"**_Ghost boy!_**"

A large, heavily armored ghost assassin stood almost casually in the gym doorway, the barrel of the laser strapped to his forearm still smoking. "Your little show of spirit was quite enthusiastic," the ghost announced. "Can we bring the cheerleaders to the Ghost Boy vs. Skulker deathmatch?"

The crowd exploded into rolling waves of pushing and shoving, unsure of where the ghost had come from but knowing that he was Something Bad and they should get out of the way. It was almost amusing how used to the ghost attacks the students of Casper High were becoming.

But no matter how used to it they got, they weren't above panicking and stampeding when it did happen. Danny flattened himself back against the wall, blue eyes wide. Sam whirled at her locker, violet eyes fixed on the ghost. Her hands were balled into fists, tense and ready.

"Danny, stay where you are!" Jazz called.

"I _have_ to!" The panicking crowd was too large and solid; they were all trapped where they stood—Sam at the locker, Danny against the wall, Tucker and Jazz further down the hall.

Dash scrambled ungracefully away, eyes wide. "No! No! I'm not the ghost boy! I'm the star quarterback!" His wild gaze darted to Paulina, who stood transfixed, petrified. "Ask her!" Dash shrieked. "Ask her! I don't even look a thing _like_ Inviso-Bill!"

The ghost actually looked perplexed. "It seems I've been tricked. That makes me…_cranky_." He made an adjustment to the weapon strapped to his forearm; Jazz had spent enough time around her parents to recognize the sound of a laser warming up.

Danny and Sam exchanged panicked glances; so did Jazz and Tucker.

"Change of plans," the ghost chuckled wickedly, cocking the laser and rising through the ceiling like an angel of death.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

The Fenton Ghost Gabber is definitely one of the funniest Fenton inventions, and appears in the episode "One Of A Kind". It's supposed to translate ghost noise into English—when Danny demonstrates by saying "Boo", it translates into "I am a ghost. Fear me." However, when he adds, "I have to go to school," it translates, "I have to go to school. Fear me." So who knows if it really works. (chuckles). Love it.

Danny and Sam keep making fun of Jazz with "Jeopardy!" jokes. I hate "Jeopardy!", but my grandmother loved it and watched it all the time when she lived with us. I can't bring myself to visit the hospital where she  
lives now; the furthest I get is the beach outside, and curse myself for a coward every time.

Danny also says, "Hi, Sam," when he and Jazz hear the sound of a ladder against the windowsill. This is a reference to the first show I ever loved on Nickelodeon, "Clarissa Explains It All". God I miss that show. (smiles.)

Jazz's "observation" of Casper High contains a lot of fake Latin names, which might amuse anyone who watched the old Bugs Bunny-Road Runner hour as a kid like I did. (smiles.) Meep meep!

There is no such team as the Spellman Specters on the show, but judging by episodes such as "What You Want", the Casper High Ravens really do seem to take a beating on that field. Yikes!

Matt Prescott's camera, a Nikon F5, is the kind the criminalists of _CSI_ use to take pictures at their crime scenes. An interesting bit of trivia: David Kaufman, Danny Fenton's voice actor, appears in the critically acclaimed S1 _CSI_ episode, "Unfriendly Skies".

Danny tells Sam that she could get to Wonderland through her large locker mirror—just like Alice does in Lewis Carroll's novel _Through the Looking-Glass_.

Tucker, Danny and Sam's descriptions of "bad" poke fun at three people who should never have been given video cameras—the Wachowski brothers, Ashlee Simpson, and Paris Hilton, respectively.

In the episode "Bitter Reunions", Jazz refuses to go to the reunion with Jack, Maddie and Danny. Instead, she stays in a theater in the Masters mansion and watches old footage of the Green Bay Packers, who still won't sell their team to Vlad. (chuckles.) Ah, Vlad, will you ever win?

Finally, homage to the best quote in the world, which I was proud to give to Sam in this chapter. My best friend Cloudwalker, an excellent writer who is kind enough not only to be my friend but to beta my stories for me, once told me, "What's the worst that can happen? You die horribly, and then it's over." Truer words were never spoken, not even by Anita!


	5. The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side

**Author's Introduction:**

When last we left our heroes (I never get tired of saying that), they'd just managed to escape from a fate worse than death—the school pep rally—only to meet another fate almost worse than death, a ghost attack. Maybe Dash's lame Inviso-Bill costume wasn't so bad—it managed to fool Skulker for a few minutes. But now the jig is up, and Danny's trapped against a wall with no safe place to go ghost and half the school as witness…

**Obligatory disclaimer: **I don't own Danny Phantom. Sue me. The average settlement is $50,000. (chuckles.)

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Five: The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side**

_Out flew the web and floated wide;  
The mirror crack'd from side to side;  
"The curse is come upon me," cried  
The Lady of Shalott._

**(_The Lady of Shalott_, Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

* * *

**

Jazz's pulse bounced up her throat like a pinball. Her brother's expression was torn—if he did nothing, the ghost would wreak havoc on the school. But if he transformed into his ghost self, his cover would be blown in front of half the student body.

"We have to _do_ something," Jazz said, shaking Tucker, who was the only one close enough to shake.

"Like _what_?" Tucker asked. "My PDA doesn't have a function for this!"

Damn it, Jazz thought. She'd forgotten one important fact—Tucker knew Danny was half ghost, and _she_ knew Danny was half-ghost, but Tucker didn't know that she knew! They couldn't compare notes or anything, and Danny was in trouble.

Danny closed his eyes slowly, as if centering himself. Then he opened them, and an expression of determination crossed his face. Jazz knew he'd decided to sacrifice himself—he was about to go ghost right where he was standing, against the wall of the corridor.

Jazz opened her mouth to scream something, anything, but for once, someone was thinking faster than she was.

A horrible shattering sound drew everyone's attention to the other side of the hallway.

Sam's locker was open, and her fists were buried in the spiderwebbed center of her beautiful mirror. Blood dripped down her forearms and spattered on the floor.

For a minute, no one moved. Sam's violet eyes were staring dazedly at the damage, as if even she were shocked by what she'd done.

"No," Danny whispered hoarsely, breaking the silence, if only a little.

Sam's eyes darted desperately towards him. _Go_, her expression said. Danny's blue eyes were wet and jumpy, but he set his jaw and obeyed, pushing past the stunned students to run down the corridor and out of sight.

Just in time—Paulina split the air with a blood-curdling scream.

The hallway erupted in sound. Many of the students backed away from Sam, while Tucker and Jazz surged forward.

"Sam! Are you okay?" Tucker yelled, coming out of the trance to run to his friend's side. He helped Sam take her hands out of the mirror. Shards jingled down to the tiled floor.

Sam gave him a shadow of her usual withering glare, but it was enough to reassure Jazz. Sam was still Sam.

Tucker laughed softly. "Sorry. Standard question." He sucked air through his teeth at the sight of the blood. "Whoa, Sam. Good idea, but did you have to use both hands?" he chuckled nervously.

"A good idea," Sam wheezed, doubling over a little and curling her bleeding hands into fists as Tucker turned her away from the open locker. "Not a _smart_ idea...but a good idea."

"Oh, gross," Paulina moaned, turning her face away. "She's crazy."

"Beat it, candy floss," Jazz snapped, tossing her hair over her shoulder and turning to Sam. "Come on, Sam, let's go get you cleaned up." Even as she said it, Jazz knew "cleaning up" wasn't the right term and should be replaced by "medical attention".

"No, I—I want to go find Danny," Sam stammered, seemingly ignorant of the jagged glass sticking out of her mangled hands and the blood that was dripping faster and faster to the floor. "Danny needs help."

"Right now you're the one that needs help, Sam," Jazz said, then when she realized how that sounded, she added, "We need to bandage your hands and stuff," to emphasize that she meant physical help, not mental help.

Tucker drew Sam beneath his arm. "Sorry, Sam. Jazz is right, and we have to get out of here before Lancer shows up."

"Did you hear what she said to me?" Paulina demanded, turning to Dash.

Dash 's grin was sickly; his narrow escape from the ghost had left him pale. But he still managed to come up with a bad joke as his eyes bounced to Sam's bloody hands. "We don't have to beat up on kids like Manson—she does it to herself!"

Rage shot through Jazz like a bottle rocket. "I said get _lost_," she said, stomping her foot at Mr. and Mrs. Casper High.

"Danny." Sam was trying to squirm away from Tucker. He was trying to hold her without aggravating the wounds, which looked difficult.

"I think you need stitches, Sam," Jazz said. The longer she looked at the wounds, the worse they seemed.

"No, I'm fine," Sam insisted shakily. "Can we go find Danny now?"

"What's all the noise?" Having been the last person to leave the gym after the rally, Lancer was still trapped in the back of the crowd, but he'd push his way through eventually.

"We'll find him later," Tucker promised. "We always do. Lancer's coming, Sam, we have to hurry."

Jazz glanced down at the shards of glass that littered the floor beneath Sam's locker. Most of them were spattered with blood, but there wasn't time to clean any of it up. They had to get Sam out of there. She pushed the open locker shut with one foot and tried to shepherd Sam and Tucker down the hall at the same time.

"They'll tell your parents," Tucker hissed. "Your mom and dad will come and you'll be grounded and they won't let you out of your room for a month! And you won't be able to go to the concert with Danny!"

This appeal to Sam's alone-time with Danny worked where nothing else might have. Her violet eyes dimmed as she rolled Tucker's words over in her mind, and then she nodded dazedly.

Jazz tried to sound soothing—difficult when she could still roll her pulse in her mouth like candy. "Come on, Sam. It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Together, she and Tucker led the shivering girl towards the double doors.

"Hey, look!" Paulina cried, and everyone turned back towards her. Jazz was thankful for the distraction; they actually passed Lancer as they made it to the doors. He was exiting the gym, but his eyes were trained on the far end of the hallway, where Paulina was leaning against the window.

"There he is! It's really him! My hero!" Paulina trilled. "_Inviso__-Bill_!"

Sam made a sound and buried her head in Tucker's shoulder.

* * *

Just as Jazz had predicted, Sam needed stitches. Tucker had stayed with her in the backseat of the Jetta while Jazz, who had never gone even a mile over the speed limit in her life, blew two red lights on the way to the emergency room. After the initial shock of what she'd done had worn off, Sam had returned to her usual self, making fun of Tucker and bitching about Paulina's ridiculous skit and Dash's terrible costume. Tucker joined right in, his spirits rising with every snarky comment she made, the sheet he'd worn in the rally spread on the Jetta's backseat, slowly staining with blood.

"I've got to warn you, Sam," Jazz said to the rearview mirror as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Since we're all minors, they're going to call your parents. And they're obligated to tell them if they find anything…out of the ordinary." She wasn't sure how else to put it; she didn't know if she should say anything in front of Tucker.

"It's okay," Sam said, wincing as Tucker tried to take a shard of glass out of her hand. She hissed in a breath, then added, "It won't be anything they don't already know."

"Tucker, can you take her inside while I find a place to park?" Jazz said, her brow furrowing as she pulled the Jetta up to the hospital doors.

"He hates hospitals," Sam said. "Tucker, you hate hospitals. You're afraid of them."

"Well, you're the one who's going into the ER, not me," Tucker chuckled. "As soon as you're cool, we need to get the hell out of here." He opened his door and held his hands out for Sam.

"For Christ's sakes, Tucker, I'm not an invalid," Sam snapped.

Tucker grinned and carefully took her arm. "You want a wheelchair?"

"_Tuck_-errrrrr!" Sam wailed as they disappeared beyond the sliding doors.

Jazz tried to laugh, tried to quell the scream rising in her throat as she turned back onto the street. Walls of cars rose to meet her on every side; she grew increasingly more impatient as the minutes ticked by. Fifteen minutes later, she found a space five blocks away from the hospital. She only realized tears were biting at her eyes as turned off the ignition and the car shuddered to a stop. How the hell was Sam so calm, when she felt like falling apart? Even Tucker was laughing.

For the first time, Jazz wondered what the three younger kids did at night, what horrors they'd held hands through, what wounds they'd laughed off.

As she opened the door, she caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror of the bloody sheet still spread across the backseat

She only remembered her cell phone when she was halfway back to the hospital. It was hard to keep her shaking fingers from pressing incorrect keys as she dialed.

_"Hello, you've reached the Fentons! We're not available to take your call, so please leave a message at the sound of the beep."_ Her mother's voice on their answering machine, right before her father cut in. _"If this is a ghost-related emergency, please state that!"_

Jazz wanted to scream. "Mom, Dad, it's me, Jazz. Please pick up if you're there—it's not about a ghost, but it is an emergency!"

Silence, so she continued, the sound of her own voice loud on the deserted side street. "I'm at the hospital. Sam got hurt at school and Tucker and I brought her to the emergency room—she's fine but I can't find Danny and I don't know what to do! If you see him, please tell him we're here…"

The machine cut her off. She pressed END and began a new call, her finger jumping from speed dial #1 to speed dial #2.

_"Hey, this is Danny. You know what to do!"_

No, that was the problem. She didn't know what to do at all.

"Danny, it's Jazz! I brought Sam to the emergency room. I don't know where you are, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with ghosts and you have to come! Please, if you get this, just come to the hospital." She knew how panicked she sounded, running the words together. Danny was probably going to think she was an idiot, when his friends were so calm.

As she reached the sliding doors, she couldn't help but notice the round drops of blood spattered on the concrete. Round drops; they'd walked inside, not run. So calm, when Jazz felt like her heart, her lungs, her eyes were shivering.

She burst into the lobby, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Tucker. He was sitting in a chair in front of the big screen TV, his eyes fixed dejectedly on _Oprah_.

"Tucker!" Jazz panted. "What happened? Why aren't you with Sam?"

The techno-geek shrugged miserably. "What took you so long? They took Sam into a room, said they'd let me know when she was patched up, but I couldn't stay in there with her."

"So she's alone?" Jazz asked softly, dropping into the chair next to Tucker.

Tucker's eyes were darting nervously back and forth behind his glasses. "I had to tell them her name. They're gonna call her parents."

Jazz patted his arm. "Her parents will want to know. It's for the best."

Tucker shook his head darkly. "No, it isn't. Have you ever met Sam's parents?"

Jazz cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't think anyone had met Sam's parents. Who are they, Jack Skellington and Sally?"

Tucker laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "Worse. Way worse. Danny's met them—he can tell you. So could your parents."

Jazz was confused. She'd assumed no one knew anything about Sam's family. Belatedly, she realized that she hadn't known anything about Sam's family, so she had assumed no one did. How could the rest of the Fentons know something the Only Normal Fenton didn't?

"I wish we could get in touch with Danny," she murmured, huddling down in her chair. "He doesn't even know we're here."

But Tucker didn't echo her worry; rather, he smiled. "He'll find us," he assured Jazz. "Don't you know? He and Sam have a 'psychic connection'." He pulled his arm away from Jazz's to make finger quotation marks. "He'll zero in on her like a homing pigeon. Nothing will keep him away."

It sounded foreign and lovely to hear someone talk about her brother that way—her brother who sometimes laughed so hard that milk came out his nose; who spied on her dates and stole her diary to blackmail her with, who'd grown from the tiny, toddling boy she'd opened presents with on Christmas morning to someone mysterious and heroic that she couldn't even comprehend.

Jazz didn't know how long they sat there. The clock's hands seemed to spin languidly as she watched; she lost count of the times Oprah turned the conversation to herself. Tucker kept nodding off, his head dropping against Jazz's shoulder. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it had been less than an hour, but the clock was snickering at her, refusing to give her a straight answer.

Which was why she thought she'd fallen asleep and wandered into a dream when they came in.

The woman was in a suit the color of Pepto-Bismol. A white blouse reflected the painful shade of pink, complete with one of those big blousy ties at her throat, the kind that were popular in the late eighties and early nineties. Pumps that were dyed to match the suit perfectly tapped as she walked down the hospital corridor. Her coppery hair looked awful atop all that pink, but every strand was coiffed sleekly around her head. She had icy pink lipstick and nails to match. She spoke to the nurse at the desk too softly for Jazz to hear.

A blond man in a pinstriped suit appeared at the sliding doors, surveying his surroundings before moving towards the woman to tuck a hand under her elbow. She leaned into the hold, closing her long-lashed eyes. He stroked her shoulder, murmuring something that sounded like, "This is so embarrassing," as he shook his blond head.

"We'll take care of it," the woman soothed, her voice sugary.

"And what they'll say around town…"

"I'll talk to her."

For one crazy second, Jazz wondered if she'd lapsed into another one of her early-morning fantasies of pinstripes and perfection. They seemed to shine on the stark white of the tiled floor beyond the waiting room carpet. She almost reached out to them.

"Tucker! Jazz!"

The doors hissed open, revealing a panicky Danny. His blue eyes were the color of the bottom of a gas flame, his dark hair more tousled than usual. He was out of breath.

"Danny!" Jazz leapt from her chair to hug him, but he didn't return the gesture, his wild eyes fixed on the corridor.

"Where is she? Is she okay?" His head whipped back and forth over Jazz's shoulder, searching for Sam as if she would jump out from behind one of the chairs, smiling and waving like it was all a joke.

"You found us," Jazz said, giving him a squeeze. "Tucker said you would—how did you know we were here?"

"Jazz, where _is_ she?" Danny asked, breaking her hold on him.

"Danny," Tucker said, rushing over to them. "Did you take care of—that thing you had to do?"

Ordinarily Jazz would have scoffed at such a poor attempt to cover up, but Tucker was tired. She forgave him.

Danny looked incredulous, as if Tucker's priorities were completely skewed. "I'm _here_, aren't I? Where is _Sam_?"

The couple at the nurse's station turned at the sound of the name.

"_You_," the man said to Danny, pointing a thick finger at him. The woman grasped his shoulder as if preparing to stop a fight. Jazz was surprised to see that Danny knew them, or at least, they knew him.

Instead of responding to the challenge, Danny grasped Jazz's shoulders, shaking her. "What do you know? Where is Sam?"

All the shouting stopped the couple from hearing the first and second call of their name, so everyone only heard the third shout of "Mr. and Mrs. _Manson_." It was coming from a tall, thin man with a receding hairline and sickly green scrubs under a lab coat standing at the nurse's station.

The couple forgot Danny and lunged for the doctor.

Jazz was shocked. The visions of aesthetic perfection she had thought she'd dreamt up were the Mansons—Sam's parents. The corpse bride's parents were rich, tinted, coiffed socialites.

No wonder Sam never wanted to go home.

"Mr. and Mrs. Manson, my name is Dr. Strohmann. Would you follow me please?"

"Is Samantha okay?" Mrs. Manson asked.

"She's going to be just fine," the doctor began.

"Then she is in _so_ much trouble," Mr. Manson declared.

Dr. Strohmann looked slightly embarrassed. "She's going to be just fine, but I'm afraid we had to sedate her..."

"Sedate her?" Jazz asked incredulously. "For God's sake, why?"

Danny and Tucker exchanged glances. The doctor sighed, looking at his clipboard. "She kept trying to leave. When we tried to tell her that we needed her to calm down so we could treat her wounds, she became agitated and...uncooperative."

Danny had wrapped his arms around himself, as if he were cold. Jazz's psychologist's brain supplied her with words for the posture, like "closed-off" and "brooding".

"Sedate her? My daughter is not an animal," Mr. Manson rumbled. "She just seems to enjoy _acting_ like one sometimes..."

Danny immediately snapped to attention, hands curling into fists. Tucker placed a warning arm in front of him; the last thing they needed was assault charges on top of everything else. Looking into Mr. Manson's angry eyes, Jazz had no doubt that it would make his day to file a complaint against her brother.

"What kind of...wounds...are we talking about here?" Mrs. Manson asked. She looked dizzy.

"She's badly lacerated her hands. She's going to be just fine, but there are some things I'd like to discuss with you..." The doctor turned, as if noticing the room's other occupants for the first time. "Are they family?" he said, gesturing to the Fentons and Tucker.

"No," Mrs. Manson interrupted quickly. "No, they're not."

"Then, if the Mansons will come with me..." the doctor began, gesturing with his clipboard.

Jazz, who'd never stuck up for any one member of her family in her life, stamped her foot. "But—wait! You have to at least let Danny in."

"Yeah!" Tucker added, braver since he hadn't had to be the first to speak up.

Mr. Manson glanced at Danny, and if looks could kill, Danny would have been all ghost instead of just half of one.

"The situation is…only family should see her," the doctor said gently, and Mrs. Manson looked slightly smug. Jazz wanted to smash that perfect face. Instead, she turned to her brother. "Sam's really fine, Danny. She was fine the whole time we drove here. They'll let her out soon. I'm sure she'll _really_ want to see you," she added pointedly, arching her eyebrows at the Mansons.

Danny said nothing, but his displeasure with the situation was obvious.

"This is humiliating," Mr. Manson muttered to his wife as they followed the doctor towards the corridor that led to the examination rooms.

"I'll talk to her," Mrs. Manson responded, as if she had said that too many times for her own liking, and then they disappeared behind the door.

For a minute, the three teens were silent. Only instinct made Jazz step away from the wall before Danny slammed Tucker into it.

"How could you let this happen?" Danny demanded. "How could you let her do this?"

Jazz had never heard her brother sound so furious, but where his beloved Sam was concerned, all bets were off. She grabbed him around his waist, starting with surprise at the muscle she felt beneath his shirt. "Danny! Calm down!"

"Me?" Tucker squeaked. "I was all the way across the hall, Danny! I didn't know she was going to do it. I don't think _she_ even knew she was going to do it!"

Jazz silently agreed. Sam had looked so surprised by her own actions. She'd only known that they needed a distraction, and she'd come up with one hell of a distraction.

Jazz still wasn't sure if Danny had ever seen Sam's scars. Whether he knew or not, it didn't matter—he was overprotective of her regardless. Jazz had the feeling that Danny would gladly have taken all the day's negative attention upon himself to keep it from Sam.

It wasn't a hug. Her brother had his hands around his best friend's throat, and she had her arms around his waist, leaning back with all her weight to try to pull him off, but it was like trying to move a boy made of metal. When had he gotten so strong?

It wasn't a hug, but it was the best Jazz could do. Instead of trying to pull him away from Tucker, she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "Danny. It'll be okay. I promise. I promise."

He relaxed, as if someone had let the air out of him, releasing Tucker, who rubbed at his throat.

"I'm sorry, Tuck," he murmured. "It's not your fault."

Tucker smiled, seemingly uncaring that Danny had just been trying to throttle him. He clapped his best friend on the shoulder. "Hey, man. I'm scared, too."

Jazz touched Danny's other shoulder. "What do you want to do?" she asked gently.

He set his jaw. "I'm not leaving here until I've seen her. I don't care what they say."

Jazz had to smile. Danny could be as stubborn as Jack when he wanted to be.

They settled back into the chairs. Oprah had been replaced by a news broadcast. Murders, robberies and fires flickered across Danny's blank face as he stared into a middle distance. Tucker and Jazz exchanged glances behind his back, like two worried parents. Finally Jazz tapped her brother's shoulder. When he turned to look, she held her hands out to him, palm down.

He didn't smile, but a look of thoughtful recognition crossed his face, and then he slowly placed his hands palm up beneath hers. A few seconds of silence passed before he tried to slap her hands, but she pulled out of his way.

"Nice one," Tucker approved.

"Tuck gets next," Danny announced, and the game continued until Dr. Strohmann appeared at the door, minus the Mansons.

"Jasmine Fenton?" he asked.

Releasing Tucker's hands, Jazz gave the boys a reassuring look and walked over to him. "I'm Jasmine Fenton."

"You brought Samantha in?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and then the story was spilling out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I know her parents don't want us in there, but it was an accident. I swear to God it was an accident."

"I believe you," the doctor said, and Jazz was startled. She'd expected to have to put up more of a fight. "Unfortunately, her family is adamant that no other visitors be admitted, so I wanted to give you an update in case you and your friends wanted to go home."

Going home was probably the only option remaining for them, but Jazz knew she was going to have a hard time convincing Danny. An update on Sam's condition would help. "Thank you, Doctor." She beckoned to the boys, and they came over.

Dr. Strohmann smiled at Danny and Tucker reassuringly; Jazz liked him for coming out to talk to them despite the fact that the Mansons so obviously disapproved. "Samantha's going to be fine, guys. She needed stitches, and some of the cuts are probably going to scar, but we won't even keep her overnight. Her parents should be able to take her home as soon as she feels up to it. A day or so of rest and some bandages and she'll be as good as new."

Jazz rubbed her brother's arm. "See, Danny? Everything's going to be fine."

Danny didn't look satisfied. "Why can't I see her?"

"She's a little out of it from the medication," Strohmann sidestepped neatly. "She should get some rest. But she can go back to school tomorrow if she wants to, as long as she keeps those stitches wrapped and dry."

"But I have to see her," Danny protested. "Sam's my best friend. She needs me."

"I promise you she's fine," Strohmann soothed. "I've got to get back in there."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jazz interrupted. "We appreciate this."

"It's my job," he said, treating them to a smile before he disappeared beyond the door once again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Danny stated flatly, and Jazz geared up for a fight. There was no way the Mansons were going to let anyone who didn't have a medical degree within fifty feet of Sam tonight. But Jazz had known Danny for all of his life and most of hers, and she knew how stubborn he could be. Trying to keep him away from Sam would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He wasn't going to listen to reason on this one.

"Danny, if her parents come out and find us here, they'll be even angrier," Tucker pointed out. "We're better off just going home and seeing her tomorrow."

"No way, Tuck." Danny shook his head.

"Tucker has a point," Jazz said.

"Go home if you want to," Danny said. "I'm staying here."

Jazz felt the beginnings of a migraine. There had just been too many problems today. She was all out of solutions. Luckily, voices interrupted.

"Danny? Jazz?"

Jazz turned around to see a sight she'd once despised—the worried faces of her parents. "Jazzie?" Maddie Fenton asked, holding her arms out to her daughter. "Are you okay, honey?"

Jazz felt a lump forming in her throat. "_Mommy_," she cried, and went willingly into the hug.

"We got your message, Jazzerincess," Jack said, hurrying forward. "What happened?"

The three teens mentally drew straws, and Jazz, of course, lost.

"Sam's mirror broke," she said softly. "In her locker. She cut her hands really bad."

Maddie and Jack exchanged looks, and Jazz cringed, waiting for whatever was coming—interrogation? Scolding? Grounding?

But Maddie simply ran a hand through Danny's tousled bangs. "You poor kids," was all she said. "How is Sam?"

"The doctor said she's gonna be all right, but Sam's parents won't even let us see her," Tucker explained.

"They're really upset," Jazz added dejectedly. "They yelled." The last was almost a whisper; Jazz hated to be yelled at by anyone.

Maddie put a hand on Danny's arm. "Come on, Danny Boy. Let's go home."

"No," Danny protested, snapping to life and trying to pull away from his mother. "I want to see Sam."

"There's nothing more we can do, Danny," Jazz said tiredly.

"Jazz is right, Danny." Jack stepped in and smiled at his son. "If Sam's not too badly hurt, they'll release her and she'll be back in our kitchen in no time."

Jazz had to hand it to her dad. Not only was it a good argument, it was probably even true.

"I don't want to go," Danny insisted doggedly. He was using his whole weight against Maddie, not to fight, just not to go. "We can't just leave her here all alone..."

"You said her folks are with her, right, son?" Jack asked, but Danny only looked more upset.

Jazz understood. Sam's parents were with her, but she was definitely alone.

The Only Normal Fenton took charge, turning to her mother. "Take Danny home. Tucker can ride with me."

Maddie smiled at her. "Proud of you, Jazzie," she whispered, then put an arm around Danny's shoulders to guide him down the hall, speaking soothingly to him about how everything was going to be just fine. Her father brought up the rear, keeping uncharacteristically quiet.

It was Tucker who had the last word, looking in the direction the Mansons had gone. "I told you Sam's parents were scary." He sighed, pushing his glasses up on his forehead to rub at his tired eyes. Jazz watched him, realizing that she wasn't the only one who'd been putting on a brave face. "Ready to go?" he asked, fighting a yawn.

Jazz was tired, too, but she wasn't about to leave empty-handed. "In a minute. There's just one more thing I have to do," she answered, walking to the information desk. She hoped that her fatigue and worry would disguise the fact that she was a bad liar. "Is there a bathroom around here?" she asked the nurse behind the desk.

The nurse turned bleary aqua eyes to Jazz. Her hair had probably been neatly combed at the start of her shift, but stress and hurrying had turned it into a mess of elf-locks and tangles. A smear of ink stretched from the corner of her lips towards her ear. Her fingertips were also darkened with ink.

"Can't you read?" the nurse muttered. "It's out of order."

Jazz could read; she'd seen the sign when she and Tucker had been waiting. She was hoping for another response.

"Is there another one on this floor? It's rather important." She held up her purse and jingled it—the universal code for "I've got my period and I really need to find a ladies' room, now".

The nurse's exasperated expression softened; maybe it was her time of the month, too. "Okay, I really shouldn't do this, but if you go down the hall, past x-ray and to the right, there's another bathroom."

Jazz didn't have to fake relief. "Thank you so much!" Clutching her purse, she turned to Tucker. "I'll be right back. Wait here, okay?" Without waiting for his answer, she whirled and hurried through the doors.

She'd always thought hospitals were quiet, but sound assaulted her ears as soon as the doors swung behind her.

Someone was crying in a room off to her left.

A heart monitor beeped nearby.

Wheels squeaked as an orderly pushed an IV down the hall.

She paused for a frantic moment at the beginning of the corridor. It was going to be hard not to look like she was peeking in every room, but she couldn't think of a better way. She took a few steps past the room containing the chirping heart monitor and came to a break in the wall. She could either turn left or keep going straight, but wasn't sure which would be the best course of action, and she didn't have much time.

"But why?" a drugged voice asked. "Why can't I…?"

"Why? We should be asking _you_ why, Samantha!"

Jazz frowned and silently thanked Mr. Manson's embarrassment for doing the detective work for her. Sidling up to the wall a little further down the hall, she tried to look nonchalant as she listened. It was taking all her willpower not to peek around the doorframe, but to do so would be akin to stamping her feet and screaming out exactly where she was. All she could do was listen.

Luckily, there was a lot to listen to. Mr. Manson wasn't finished ranting.

"Why? Why do you behave habitually like a wild creature?"

Mrs. Manson joined in, although she was a lot more subdued than her husband. "Sammy, really…"

Jazz wished she could go intangible like Danny and just walk in undetected. She'd have given almost anything to see how Sam looked, to have something better than just words to take back to Danny.

But the next words were from Sam herself. "I feel fuzzy."

"They gave you a…painkiller, Sammy," Mrs. Manson said. "We're going to take you home soon."

"Okay…" Sam sighed. "Where are the boys?"

A silence. Were the Mansons exchanging looks, synchronizing their stories? Mrs. Manson answered. "Sam, we wouldn't bring the help to the hospital. What would they think?"

Sam sighed again. "Not your boys, Mom, my boys. Danny and Tucker. Where are my boys?"

Jazz couldn't help but smile, but it didn't last long.

"I don't want you seeing that Fenton boy," Mr. Manson rumbled. "Bad things always happen when that kid is around."

Sam interjected, with more force than she'd spoken with before. "It's not Danny's fault! I did this to _myself,_ remember? It has nothing to do with—"

"Ugh." Mrs. Manson interrupted, as if she couldn't bear to hear it. "Don't say things like that, Sammy. We'll tell everyone it was an accident."

"You're not listening to me," she murmured in defeat. "Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"We are going home," Mr. Manson declared.

"But where's Danny? Jazz and Tucker brought me to the hospital, and I wanna tell them I'm okay…" Jazz felt a smile tug at her lips once more. But the painkillers and the day's events had taken the fight out of Sam. Her voice was getting soft again.

"Just rest now, pumpkin. We'll take care of it," Mr. Manson was saying.

"I want Danny," Sam murmured. "I want to see Danny…"

Jazz pressed her toes down hard in her shoes to stop the shaking. She understood, finally, understood everything—why Sam needed to dress in black and buckles, why she kept coming back to the Fenton house, why she'd shed her own blood before she'd let anything happen to Tucker or to Danny. Especially Danny.

The perfect couple in the hospital room were Sam's parents, but they weren't her family. They didn't even _know_ her. After seeing those faded pink scars on Sam's wrists, Jazz's mind had run the gamut wondering what had compelled her to drag the blade down that first time. She'd wondered if Sam's parents hit her, or were too strict with her, or hated her. Finally she knew, and it was much worse.

They _ignored_ her.

They were ignoring her now. She was lying in front of them in bandages with bloodstains drying on her arms, and they were ignoring her. Her own blood couldn't get their attention.

The psychologist in Jazz finally understood why Sam was so mistrustful of everyone. The two people who were supposed to love her unconditionally were nothing more than a couple of strangers who happened to share her DNA. No wonder she was so angry all the time.

The sound of arms being put through the sleeves of a jacket snapped Jazz out of her thoughts. She hurried back to the waiting room to collect Tucker before she was found. There was nothing more to be done here. It was time to go home.

* * *

She'd been staring at the steering wheel for about six minutes when Tucker broke the silence. "Jazz? Are you okay?"

She turned to give him a watery smile. "Yeah. Of course. You can mess with the radio if you want."

"Jazz."

It was becoming increasingly harder not to cry. She smacked her hands against the steering wheel. "God damn it."

Silence for a minute, then Tucker broke it with one of his easy laughs. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you swear before. Feel better?"

"Of course I don't feel better." She glared at him. "Don't you even have enough sense to be scared?"

"Sam's tough," was all he said, turning to look out the windshield. "She's a fighter." He suddenly became animated, reaching into his pocket. "I almost forgot. She gave me this for you before she went into the room. She forgot to give it to you in the car before. It's what she went back to her locker to get."

He handed her a folded sheet of paper. It was slightly crumpled, probably from the long journey it had taken today, Jazz reasoned. Sam's spiky print was on the front of it, along with some light blood spatter. A chill shook it in Jazz's fingers for a minute.

_To: Jazz_

_Urgent—Top Secret!_

_From: Sam_

Jazz fought a smile at the semantics of high school note-writing. "What is it?" she asked.

Tucker shrugged. "Sam asked me not to open it."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Since when do you ever do what people ask you to do?"

Tucker squirmed uncomfortably. "Well...she said 'please'. She doesn't usually say 'please'."

Uh oh. He was scared, all right. Jazz tucked the note into her purse, making a mental note to read it as soon as she got home.

* * *

Jazz was staring at her computer, unable to type. She couldn't write about disturbed children with bad home lives when memories of Sam's bloody hands and Danny's tortured eyes kept flashing in her head.

As if to save her from her own thoughts, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Jazz said softly.

The door swung open to reveal Maddie, who was smiling and holding a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food in one hand. She held it out to Jazz like a peace offering to a cranky god. "I thought maybe you could use a break." She had two big spoons in her other hand, so she had to push the door closed with her foot.

Jazz smiled. "Want to sit down?"

They sat on Jazz's bed and dug the spoons into the ice cream for a few minutes without speaking. Jazz knew what was coming, but she let her mother break the silence.

"You did the right thing today, Jazz. Your father and I are proud of you."

Jazz sighed. "Mom, I didn't do anything. Sam was hurt, so I took her to the hospital. That's all."

Maddie wasn't about to let her daughter put herself down. "You took charge of the situation, and you did what needed to be done. That's something to be proud of."

Jazz spooned some more ice cream out of the carton. "How's Danny?"

Maddie's turn to sigh. "Really upset. Your father's trying to get him to come out of his room, but he won't. Keeps smashing his fists into things, from what I can hear from the hallway."

Jazz hiked an auburn brow. "Shouldn't we be more worried about this?"

Maddie smiled, the knowing mom-smile that all mothers got by the time their kids were teenagers. "Oh, he'll come out when he's ready. He just needs to blow off some steam. He's had a rough day."

She was probably right, although "rough day" was an understatement. Jazz dug the spoon into the ice cream again, digging for fudgy fish. "Sam's parents are jerks," she muttered. "They should have let him see her."

Maddie didn't give the disapproving parent frown, didn't tell Jazz not to talk that way about her elders. "They're pieces of work, those two," she said, which was as close to agreeing as was polite. Then, for form's sake, she added, "I'm sure they were very worried about Sam."

"I'm sure they weren't," Jazz muttered. "You saw how mad they looked. How could they be so mean?"

"Who knows, Jazz?" Maddie sighed. "Between you and me—they're _weird_."

Being that her mother's goggles were still hanging around her neck, Jazz had to laugh. That was just the pot calling the kettle weird.

Her mother smiled at her. "What's funny?"

"Ah—nothing. Have some more ice cream." She held the pint out.

After a few more comfortable minutes of silence, Jazz spoke again. "Mom? You and Dad _are_ still going to let Danny hang out with Sam, right?"

Maddie looked confused. "Of course, honey. Why wouldn't we?"

Jazz was grateful for the fact that it wouldn't occur to Jack and Maddie Fenton not to let their son hang out with a girl who smashed her fists into mirrors. Fentons smashed things regularly, by accident and on purpose, so Maddie might not think that was odd. "I was just worried."

Maddie waved her hand dismissively. "You know how Danny and Sam are. I don't think we could keep those two apart even if we wanted to. Besides, Sam's such a nice girl."

Jazz smiled. "Yeah. She and Danny seem to care about each other a lot."

Maddie smiled the all-knowing mom smile again. "Well...you know, when he's ready, Jazz."

There was another knock on the door, followed by Jack's voice. "Jazz, have you seen your mother?"

"I'm in here, Jack," Maddie answered. "What's up?"

"The ice cream is gone. Danny and I are going to get some more."

The two Fenton women looked at the nearly-empty pint of Phish Food and giggled. "Okay, hon. Let Danny pick the flavor, okay?" Maddie called.

"Okay," Jack said, and then his footsteps clamped down the hall. "_To the Fentonmobile_!"

And Danny's voice. "Dad, can't you just call it 'the car' like everybody else?"

Jazz and Maddie exchanged smiles, and then Jazz impulsively leaned over and hugged her mother. "I love you, Mom."

Maddie pet her daughter's hair. "I love you too, Jazzie."

* * *

Her mother had said Danny would come out when he was ready, but old habits were hard to break. Steeling her big-sister nerves, Jazz knocked on Danny's door. 

"Go away," was the tired answer.

"It's Jazz," she said. "Can I come in? There's something I want to tell you."

A moment of silence, and then she heard him padding to the door. He looked haggard, his face a cup of shadows. Jazz was pretty sure he'd been crying, but decided against asking.

"I just wanted to tell you some stuff Sam said in the car," she said. "Then I'll go away and leave you alone. Okay?"

He thought it over, then nodded warily, moving aside to let her in.

As she got further into the room, Jazz realized how messy it was. Danny wasn't the neatest kid in the world, but his room wasn't usually this bad. Bottles of cologne and hairspray were scattered across the floor, as though he'd swept them off the top of his dresser with one arm. Two of the shelves in his bookcase were smashed, the splinters grinning from across the room. The books and CDs those shelves had held had fallen onto the lower shelves and the floor. The jar of loose change that usually sat on his night table was now shattered by the far wall, bleeding nickels and dimes. A small dent in the plaster above marked the place where he'd thrown it. The sheet he'd worn in the rally was thrown to cover his mirror; Jazz could see the reflective surface beneath the cut-out eye holes. He'd also pulled a drawer out of his dresser and flung its contents across the room, the carpet barely visible between scattered shirts and pairs of jeans. He'd had himself quite a tantrum; the room was trashed.

"Sit anywhere there's room," he said. "Sorry about...the mess." He looked embarrassed that he'd gone berserk.

Jazz hopped onto the bed. "What happened to the bookcase?"

Danny pointed to the floor, where the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick lay. "I figured it was time that thing was good for something," he muttered.

The two siblings looked at each other, and then both snorted with laughter. The Fenton Anti-Creep Stick was just a baseball bat that had the word "Fenton" written on the side.

Once the giggles died down, Danny's face collapsed back into exhausted severity. "You said you had something to tell me?"

Jazz sat up straighter on the bed. "I just wanted you to know that Sam was talking in the car."

Danny blinked, waiting.

"She told Tucker that he was a dork," Jazz said. "And she told me she was sorry, and she'd try not to get any blood on my upholstery. She asked me to put on the radio, but all I had was a Good Charlotte CD and she said Good Charlotte were a bunch of sellouts."

Danny was smiling, eyes shining. "So you're saying she was okay."

Jazz grinned. He'd gotten the message. "She was. Bleeding, and scared, but she was cool. She was, you know, Sam."

He clutched a pillow to his chest. "Her parents don't really like me that much. They don't like her hanging out with me."

Jazz took the other pillow. "It doesn't matter what they think," she said lightly. "Sam kept asking for _you_ in there. She wanted _you_."

Danny considered this. "She asked for me?"

Jazz smiled and nodded. "Over and over."

Danny leaned against the headboard, still clutching the pillow to his chest. Jazz was silent for a while, letting him digest what she'd said. She wanted very badly to hug him, but she didn't think he'd appreciate the invasion of his personal space. He could be so touchy about that kind of thing.

He surprised her by breaking the silence. "How's your paper going? Isn't it due tomorrow?"

She sighed. "I'm going to have to get an extension. Right now I'm too shot to even remember my own name." Once again, she wondered if her brother knew about Sam's scars. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask.

"Me, too. I..." His voice cracked the tiniest bit, and he cleared his throat. "I can't think about anything but her."

_He knows,_ Jazz decided. _He_ _knows there's something she's not telling him, but he's afraid to trust what he knows because he doesn't know how he knows it._

And looking at the shadows under his eyes, she changed her mind about asking. It didn't matter if he knew or not; he wouldn't love her any less.

She hopped off the bed. "Come on, I'll help you clean this up before Dad starts wondering where his Anti-Creep Stick went."

"What about the bookcase?" Danny asked.

Jazz considered the bookcase. "We can go out this weekend and get you a new one. We can tie it to the roof rack of my car if it doesn't fit in the back. Mom and Dad won't even notice if you put all the books away. You do that while I fold these clothes and put the drawers back in." She knelt amidst the shirts and started folding.

Danny started picking up the fallen books and CDs, giving Jazz a watery smile, but a smile nonetheless.

After half an hour, the room didn't look perfect, but it was clean enough that Jack and Maddie wouldn't notice anything if they happened to poke their heads in, clean enough that Danny could sleep comfortably. Jazz walked to the door, ready to keep her promise to leave him alone.

"Thanks," Danny said, very softly, as if he were embarrassed.

Jazz wasn't embarrassed. "You're welcome," she said, then added, "I love you," before she left the room.

* * *

It was only when she'd gotten back to her room that Jazz remembered the note. Dumping the contents of her purse onto her bed, she pushed aside her wallet and cosmetics until she found it. _Urgent_, it said, top secret.

Ever since she'd found out Danny's secret, she'd made a solemn vow never to let anyone know she knew—not even Danny. But for the first time ever, she was wondering what it would be like if she really became a child psychologist—if she committed to an entire lifetime of keeping other people's secrets. It was so hard just to keep this one, and this was her baby brother's secret. This was so very important.

And as Danny had grown up into a superhero with secrets, so too had Tucker grown into a boy who read about Pavlov and probably knew enough about electronics to reprogram the space shuttle. And little, toddling Sam had grown up into a girl who wore corsets that showed a daring amount of cleavage that Jazz was shocked she was old enough to have. These were the sidekicks that Danny had chosen to help him fight his battles. These were the people who protected Danny when she, Jazz, could not. Danny trusted them.

After today, Jazz trusted them too. She'd seen exactly how far Danny's friends were willing to go for him. She had to trust them.

But now she had this note in her hand. For once, Jazz was going to be let in on the secret—someone trusted _her_. She wasn't going to lie and say _that_ didn't feel good.

Sam had gone back to her locker before the attack and the mirror. Tucker had said the note was what she was going back to get. So it had been written before any of this had ever happened. What did Sam want to tell her?

She tried to ignore the dried blood spatter as she unfolded the note.

On a purple Post-It, Sam had written, "Thanks for keeping my secret. Maybe this will help with your paper. Please don't use my name. Sam."

"Oh, jeez," Jazz blurted out, eyes stinging, head aching. "Oh, jeez."

The Post-It was stuck to her missing page of psychology notes, the one with all the questions she'd written down and had given up for lost last weekend. She had always just figured Danny had taken the page to protect Sam from prying questions. It had never occurred to her that Sam herself might have taken it. But what was important about it now was that every question had been answered, in Sam's edgy handwriting.

Danny had asked how her paper was going. Jazz had said she'd have to get an extension. She'd worked on it a little every night, filling it with facts and statistics to try to make up for the fact that she didn't have a live subject to interview. Except for that missing detail, it had been finished.

Sitting down at her desk, Jazz flipped her computer switch and pushed the monitor button. It would probably take her the rest of the night, but the paper was due tomorrow. She had all that she needed now. If Danny, Sam and Tucker could be brave, then so could she.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I had to smile when I read **The Wicked Wench of the West's **review of chapter three, because they figured out that Sam was the one who'd taken Jazz's notes. (digs in her pocket for ten dollars). Good guess! Nice to know my plots are easier to follow than the normally dizzy gyrations of my fractured mind. (grins).

This chapter opens with a verse of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott", which can also be heard sung beautifully by Loreena McKennitt. Smitten with the sight of Lancelot, the Lady leaves her magic loom and magic mirror and looks down to Camelot, only to be struck down by the curse laid upon her. When the boat carrying her lifeless body floats down to Camelot, Lancelot proclaims to the assembled court, "She has a lovely face."

When my mama was in the hospital two Decembers ago, the hospital television was tuned to _Oprah_. It was the Christmas special—the annual show where she displays a bunch of "gift ideas" that really aren't in the average human's price range. Hospital waiting rooms are some of the strangest places on the planet. I spilled an entire bottle of cherry soda in the cab on the way home.

You'd think that emergency room staff would be used to patients being panicky and "uncooperative", but speaking from personal experience, the only time I was ever in the emergency room, I was described as being both and given a Valium before being subjected to a psychological examination from not just one, but two psychiatrists. I was released after seven hours, four of which involved an interrogation from these two shrinks about whether or not I'd ever had "suicidal thoughts", how much I dated, what I did for fun, and how much stress I was under, as if any of that had anything to do with the _stabbing pains in my abdomen_ that were the reason I'd gone in to begin with. (chuckles.) My favorite part of the trip was when they told my father that they had good news—I didn't need to be committed. (chuckles again.) Strangest hospital experience of my life, but they did give me some of the meds to go. Nice way to spend a birthday, right?

The Fenton Anti-Creep stick is indeed nothing more than a baseball bat with the word "Fenton" written on the side, and appears in the episode "13". "But we brought the bat! With the word 'Fenton' on it!" (smiles.)

I wish I had some Phish Food right now. Mmm…fudgy fish.

This story, to my extreme surprise and delight, seems to be coming around the clubhouse turn, so tune in next chapter for the aftermath of Pep Rally Thursday—Friday.


	6. Mad World

**Author's Introduction:**

To put it mildly, Pep Rally Thursday was a bad day for everyone. But one of the most interesting things about a bad day is the day after the bad day. So here it is: The Day After Pep Rally Thursday Friday.

**Obligatory disclaimer:** I don't own Danny Phantom. I'm running out of witty ways to say that.

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Six: Mad World**

_All around me are familiar faces_

_Worn-out places, worn-out faces_

_Bright and early for their daily races_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere…_

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad_

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles it's a very very mad world_

_Mad world…_

_Mad world…_

**(_Mad World, _Tears For Fears)

* * *

**

By the next morning, everyone who had seen Sam smash the mirror had a theory, and those who didn't see it were making theories up.

"I heard that Samantha Manson punched a hole in her locker door!"

"It wasn't her locker, dumbass. It was a first-floor _window_."

"I heard she needed a hundred and eight stitches!"

Jazz knew _that_ one wasn't true. Sam hadn't needed that many stitches.

"Sam Manson? Isn't she in some kind of gang?"

"No, she's a _witch_. She was casting a spell and the mirror in her locker broke."

The stories got more and more ridiculous the closer it got to morning bell. In some of them, Sam had been in a knife fight. In others, she had seen a ghost in the mirror and that was why she'd smashed it. Girls were opening their lockers and chanting "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary" all over the first floor. By the time Jazz got to her own locker, "Bloody Mary" had become "Bloody Sammy".

The loudest voice of all was, naturally, Paulina's. "Sam Manson _did_ see a ghost in her mirror," she crowed, "but that was just my hero, _Inviso__-Bill!_" Her eyes grew wide and starry as she told the story. "He saved my life!..."

Tucker was waiting by Jazz's locker. Jazz hadn't even known he knew where it was. He grinned when he spotted her, reholstering his PDA.

"Can you believe this? It's absolute pandemonium in here. I'm taking down some of these stories to show Sam later. She'll get a big kick out of them. The funniest one is the one where she saw 'Inviso-Bill' in the mirror." Tucker used his fingers for quotation marks.

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I heard the beginning of that one, but then we sort of segued off into 'Paulina: the Miniseries'."

They both looked over at the girl in question, who was still prattling away to her audience about "Inviso-Bill". "There's something special between us. He didn't say it then, but I know he felt it too—I saw it in his glowing green eyes!" Paulina gushed.

Star broke into the conversation. "That's not what _I_ heard, Paulina! I heard that Inviso-Bill has a thing for Samantha Manson, and she broke her mirror to stop a mirror ghost that's trying to kill him!"

An argument broke out immediately. Jazz turned to Tucker with wide eyes. "Who started _that_ one?"

The techno-geek was grinning slyly and Jazz found her answer in his twinkling eyes. "I can tell stories, too," he said.

Jazz shook her head. "_Tuck_errrrrr." And then they were both laughing uncontrollably, clutching their stomachs, tears welling up in their eyes.

Someone tapped Jazz's shoulder, and she turned to see Matt Prescott. "Oh...hey," she said, fighting a blush. She willed herself not to do anything stupid while Tucker was watching.

Matt smiled. "Hey, Jazz. Are you okay? I tried to call you last night, but there was no answer at your house."

Jazz chewed her lip. "Oh...right, sorry. I had to take my brother's friend to the hospital."

Matt sighed. "Yeah, Sam Manson, right? Is she okay?"

"She's going to be fine," Jazz said. "You heard about what happened?"

"I'm..." Matt cast a glance at the hordes of gossiping students in the hall. "I'm not sure," he finished with a chuckle. "As long as she's okay."

Tucker relaxed next to Jazz. For a minute he'd looked unhappy, thinking Matt might contribute to the gossip.

Matt laughed again. "Actually, I heard that Samantha Manson..."

Tucker tensed again. Jazz frowned, waiting for Matt to blow it.

"...is dating your brother Danny, Jazz. Is that true?"

Jazz exchanged glances with Tucker, who held up his hands in a not-it gesture. "Don't look at me, I didn't start that one," he said, but he was grinning. "It's my new favorite, though."

* * *

Dr. Strohmann had said that Sam could have come in to school if she'd wanted to, but hours of scanning the hallways for her had given Jazz nothing except a stabbing pain between her eyebrows. She hadn't seen her brother this morning, either—she'd knocked on his door to ask him if he wanted a ride to school, but there was no answer. When she'd turned the knob, the door had opened easily, revealing an empty room. His bed was neatly made, the bedclothes folded in military creases, the damaged bookcase the only evidence of his violent breakdown the night before. The window was open, the autumn breeze sending the curtains rolling in like the surf. A quick inspection of the other rooms in the house yielded nothing. He'd already left.

What Jazz was worried about was _when_ he'd left. She wouldn't have been surprised to learn he'd gone...hunting...after she'd left his room last night. After all, he'd trashed his room trying desperately to create a defeatable opponent. But even ghost kids needed sleep, especially when they were exhausted from stress.

Sam's locker was closed and the broken glass and blood had been cleaned up. Jazz thought it looked deceptively innocent as she walked past.

By the time the cafeteria had stopped serving breakfast, Jazz was considering the fact that her brother might have cut school. Surely he wouldn't have gone to the hospital—they'd said they weren't keeping Sam overnight. And going to her house would be too risky, even for a kid who could turn himself invisible. Sam's parents probably had her on lockdown. They hadn't sounded too happy with her even when they'd gotten into the hospital room and seen the extent of her wounds. They had seemed more upset about the potential for public embarrassment than they were about their daughter's condition.

The bell rang, and Jazz mechanically walked towards her psychology class, alarmed at how fast the day was going. The younger grades would be at lunch already.

She stopped walking abruptly. Kids cut class, they didn't cut lunch. If her brother or Sam were on campus, she'd definitely find them in the cafeteria or the quad. All she'd have to do was see them, know they were all right, and then maybe she could have peace of mind to make it through the rest of the day. She turned on her heel and started jogging towards the cafeteria.

"Jasmine Fenton?" Mr. Worth asked, glancing up from his rollbook at the Only Normal Fenton's chair, which was, for the first time ever, empty.

* * *

Jazz had already had a headache even before she'd entered the noisy cafeteria. The dull hum of conversation, forks against plates and chairs scraping along the floor pressed against her like it had weight. She reminded herself that she had Excedrin in her locker and scanned the room for Tucker's red hat. She found it at one of the tables in the back, and her heart seized with relief at the sight of her brother at the same table. Danny was sitting next to Tucker—if you could call it sitting. He was tipped over onto the table, his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed.

Keeping close to the wall, she made her way over to them. "Tucker," she whispered. "Tuck."

Hearing his name, Tucker blinked bleary eyes and searched for the voice. Seeing Jazz, he brightened. Since he looked so tired, it was of a pretty low wattage, but Jazz was heartened.

"Hey, Jazz," he said, holding a finger up to his lips as she got closer. "Shhh," he added, pointing to Danny. "I don't think he got too much sleep last night. He kept falling asleep in Lancer's class, but we already got detention for being tardy this morning, so it didn't even matter."

Jazz chuckled sadly and dropped to kneel beside the table, out of sight. "Can't you guys go even _one_ day without getting detention?"

Tucker grinned. "Apparently not."

Struck by a sudden though, Jazz asked, "You were tardy this morning?" How could her brother have been late for school? He'd left the house before the sun had come up.

"Yeah," Tucker said. "You know me, I can't get out of bed. I guess that's what happened to Danny, too. He came stumbling in here like a zombie and tried to open Dash's locker. Took him five minutes to realize it wasn't his."

He must have been wandering around all night, Jazz thought. She decided to let it go. It was still Danny's secret. Instead, she looked at the empty chair beside Danny. "No sign of Sam, huh?"

Tucker sighed. "Nope. Danny sneaked out of chemistry to call her on the pay phone, but he got her voice mail. Maybe she's sleeping, or her parents took her phone or something. He's going nuts," Tucker added. "It doesn't help that everyone keeps walking up and asking us about her. It only makes him more upset." Struck by a sudden thought, he frowned. "Speaking of people walking up and asking us about Sam, what are _you_ doing here, Jazz? This isn't even your lunch period."

"Of course it isn't," Jazz said. "I cut class to talk to you."

Tucker's eyes went wide behind his glasses. "_You_ cut class? Wow, Jazz. I didn't know you had it in you! Way to go!"

"Don't congratulate me," Jazz hissed through clenched teeth. "If Lancer catches me, I'll get detention for sure. I just wanted to check on the two of you."

"Jazz, you're really obsessed with this 'my brother's keeper' thing," Tucker said.

"You bet your PDA," Jazz snapped. "In fact, I've decided to keep all his friends, too."

"Incoming!" Tucker said, stalling the argument. "Dash Baxter at twelve o'clock."

"Your clock or my clock?" Jazz hissed, crouching.

"My clock! Quick, hide!"

From her kneeling position. Jazz scuttled under the table. Just in time. She heard Dash smack both his fists down on the table, rattling it to its bolts. "Rise and shine, Fentonowski!"

Danny jumped, kicking Jazz as he did so. "Ow!...Awwwww…"

"Hey Fenton, wakey wakey," Dash said.

"Thanks, Dash," Danny said sincerely. "I was having a nightmare."

Jazz didn't doubt it. She wished she could see his face. This listening-in stuff was useless.

Apparently upset that his intrusion was welcomed, Dash jeered, "So, is it true that Sam Manson almost bled to death yesterday?"

"Get lost, Dash," Tucker interjected. "I'm sure there's a puppy you can kick or a virgin you can despoil somewhere else." Listening to him, Jazz had the feeling Tucker had spent the entire morning fending people off.

Danny sighed. "Sam's right. Being popular totally sucks."

"Being freakish is not the same thing as being popular," Dash sneered.

"_I_ can't tell the difference," Tucker shot back.

"Dash, if I died right now, would you leave me alone?" Danny sounded weary.

"I don't know. Let's find out," Dash said.

Jazz winced, waiting for the sounds of a beating.

"Fine, hit me," Danny sighed. "Keep to the right side of my face if you can. I like my left side better."

Silence, then Dash snorted in disgust. "Well, it's no fun if you don't care."

"Hit me, or don't, Dash, so I can go back to sleep," Danny said.

"Jesus Christ, you _are_ depressed." Dash stalked off. "Screw you, Fenton. Call me when you cheer up!" he called over his shoulder.

Silence for a moment.

"What the hell just happened?" Tucker asked.

"Who cares? He's gone." Danny kicked Jazz again. "There's something under here." He pushed his chair back to look. "_Jazz_?"

"Long story," Jazz sighed.

"Oh my god," Danny groaned, letting his head fall back to the table. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know because you might actually tell me."

A pair of expensive sneakers padded past the table. "Hi, guys." Valerie Gray's voice.

"Um...hi?" Tucker asked, surprised at the greeting.

"Hey, Val." Danny sounded more tired with every hello he returned.

She laughed, a rich root-beer sound. "Don't get me wrong, normally I'd be pleased as punch that your friend Sam isn't in school today, but I don't blame her. If I saw that ghost kid in my mirror, I'd have tried to punch him out, too." Her voice took on a hard edge when she spoke of the "ghost kid".

Jazz wanted to hug her brother, but she couldn't for a few reasons, the two biggest of which were: a) he didn't know she knew his secret; b) she was still hiding under the table.

"Could you at least _pretend_ to be nice?" Tucker asked wearily. "I don't know if you noticed, Val, but being nasty to us is not going to make you popular again. Paulina and Dash are making fun of you for even standing here." Tucker pointed across the lunchroom.

"Look, Valerie's hanging out with her new _loser_ friends!" Dash called.

Val stomped a sneakered foot. "They're _not_ my friends. I was just extending my _sympathies_ for Sam Manson."

"She didn't _die_, Val," Danny yelled. Jazz wished he wouldn't pound his fists on the table. No one was listening to him anyway.

"Who cares about Samantha Manson anyway?" Paulina said, shrugging haughtily. "Big deal. The little goth hurt her little hands! As soon as they heal up she'll just turn invisible again." The pretty girl tittered.

"Fenton cares," Dash said, jerking a thumb in Danny's direction. "Fenton and the goth are practically joined at the hip."

"Please! All I have to do is walk by and he forgets all about her." Paulina swung her shoulders and got out of her chair.

From her low vantage point, Jazz saw as well as heard the high heels coming their way. Uh oh. She tugged on Danny's pant leg, trying to get his attention.

"Hi, Danny," Paulina said sweetly. Too late.

"Hey, Paulina." Danny sounded tired, as though he couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm for an event that would once have put him over the moon—Paulina acknowledging him.

Paulina wasn't satisfied, apparently. "Hey, loser, I'm talking to you."

Even after that, Danny tried to be polite. "I'm sorry, Paulina, I'm just a little spaced-out today."

_That_ was an understatement.

The apology came too late. Instead of honey, Paulina's voice now dripped with venom. "Aww, what's the matter, Danny-boy? Sad because your little freak girlfriend isn't in school today?"

Danny's anger was apparent in his voice. "She's not a freak," he said.

Jazz noticed he hadn't said _"She's not my girlfriend"_ the way he usually did.

"Don't you have an elsewhere to be?" Tucker asked, even though it hadn't worked with Dash. "You could go outside and think about what the clouds look like."

Jazz was impressed that the boys were suddenly in no mood for Paulina's antics. She wished Sam were there to hear it!

"And then there were two," Paulina trilled, ignoring Tucker. Jazz could see her rubbing her fists near her eyes to pantomime crying. "Boo hoo. Maybe the mental hospital has visiting hours and you two can go see her after school!"

"That does it," Danny said, and Jazz heard him push his chair back from the table. Tucker almost immediately followed it with, "Don't do anything stupid, Danny!"

"Good one, Foley," Paulina jeered. "You guys do _everything_ stupid!"

"Shut _up_, Paulina," Jazz shrieked, crawling out from under the table, forgetting that this wasn't her lunch period, forgetting that she had cut class to talk to Danny and Tucker, forgetting everything but how upset she was.

Paulina looked surprised that Jazz had suddenly appeared like a magician's assistant at the end of the trick, then her face relaxed into amusement. "Oh, no, you didn't. You did _not_ just tell me to shut up."

"Then I guess you didn't hear me. I'll have to say it again," Jazz snarled. "_Shut_…_up_."

"Jazz," Danny said, his voice a mixture of warning and weariness. "Just leave it alone."

But Jazz couldn't leave it alone. Enough, as they said, was enough.

"Who do you think you are?" Paulina asked.

"Forget about me, we're talking about _you_. Because it's always about you, isn't it? My brother's friend was hurt yesterday and you made fun of her while she was still bleeding! She's not in school today and all you care about is how attention was diverted from _you_ for fifteen seconds." Jazz pointed her left forefinger at Paulina like a pistol. "You're disgusting!"

Paulina whipped her head around, searching for the nearest weapon. A nearby freshman's frozen yogurt presented itself to her and she pitched it at Jazz, who grabbed Tucker's empty tray to block. The yogurt bounced harmlessly off the tray and skittered to the floor, bleeding strawberry flavoring and artificial sweetener.

That was all Kwan needed to see. Jumping onto his chair, he yelled, "Food fight!"

The cafeteria erupted in edible violence and Jazz crawled back under the nearest table. From the floor, she saw Danny and Tucker running to the quad, out of the line of fire. She snorted, but forgave them for it. They'd just stood up for Sam in front of the entire school's dream girl—they'd been brave enough for one day.

Back to the task at hand. If she followed the table the length of the room, she could sneak back into the hallway without getting in trouble or messing up her clothes—both seemed equally unappealing. Of all the days to wear her Miss Sixty jeans.

As she came out from under the table, she saw her own reflection in a pair of shiny wing-tips. Heart sinking, she raised her head to see Lancer.

"Hi, Mr. Lancer." It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt everything out, but she knew it wouldn't get her anywhere. In the end, it would be her word against Paulina's, and the Casper High Students wouldn't betray their queen.

As it turned out, they didn't have to. Lancer revealed he'd heard the whole thing. "Touching speech, Jazz. Excellent use of psychoanalysis. And since we're on the subject of psychology, my schedule printouts say that's the class you're supposed to be in right now." He smiled at her, and

Jazz let her head drop to the floor.

* * *

And that was how the Only Normal Fenton got her first-ever detention.

What had once seemed like a worst-case scenario to her actually wasn't so bad, but she had company—Danny and Tucker were there for their early-morning tardy, throwing erasers at the clock to try to make it skip a minute and passing notes to each other. Kwan was there too—he'd gotten stuck with responsibility for the cafeteria food fight and wore the badges proudly on his letter jacket. Jazz could make out at least three mustard stains.

Tucker unwrapped a Mars bar and divided it into three pieces, sliding Jazz the biggest piece. Jazz accepted the treat silently, saying thank-you with her eyes.

At three o'clock, Lancer leaned back in his chair. "Okay, halftime. The tardies and cuts, including Mr. Foley and the two-for-one Fenton Special, can leave. The restroom smokers and cafeteria condiment warriors are mine for another half hour."

Kwan groaned. Tucker handed him the box of erasers to throw at the clock.

"Thanks, Foley," Kwan chuckled.

"Hope your aim is better with those than with ketchup," Tucker quipped.

Half of the detentionees jammed up the doorway, nearly running over someone who was trying to get in. When the portal cleared, Sam was standing there with her hand still poised to knock, looking delightfully normal—for Sam, anyway—in a black plaid skirt and a black camisole. Her combat boots were on her feet, her collar was around her throat, and her cuffs were buckled over her bandages.

"Mr. Lancer?" she asked. "You said I could come pick up my assignments."

"Ah, Ms. Manson. Good to have you with us again. Although I'm sure I'll be seeing you here in detention the traditional way by next week." He handed her a stack of papers and a copy of _Anna Karenina_. "Don't think that little stunt you pulled in the hallway gets you out of discussing chapters one through five on Monday."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Little stunt? Sir, I'm crushed. I thought it at least a medium-sized stunt."

Lancer turned to Jazz with a weight-of-the-world sigh. "Please, take her with you."

"_Sam_!" Danny exclaimed as soon as they were in the safety of the hallway, pouncing on his friend and wrapping her in a huge hug.

"Wow," Sam laughed, sliding her arms around him to return the hug. "Did somebody miss me? I was only gone for the day."

"I'm so glad you're okay," Danny said, squeezing her tighter, lifting her off her feet in his excitement, then letting her back down again. "I was so worried."

Blushing, Sam leaned back in his embrace to tap him on the nose with a bandaged hand. "Dork. I'm fine."

They stared at each other shyly for a second, then Tucker broke the moment as usual. "Don't hog Sam, Danny. It's my turn." He attacked Sam with a hug of his own. "Sam, have you heard all the stories? I saved some on my PDA in case you missed them. You're a total celebrity."

"Yeah, right," Sam laughed, stepping back.

"My turn," Jazz said, leaning forward to hug Sam. "I have a feeling you don't get enough of these."

Sam smiled and hugged back, careful of Matt Prescott's camera, which was around Jazz's neck. "Psychoanalysis aside, thanks for everything, Jazz."

Jazz shrugged. "What are big sisters for, anyway?"

She let them walk a little bit ahead of her, smiling at the unconscious staging—the boys had flanked Sam so they could both walk next to her, each taking some of her books out of her hands to carry themselves.

"And you missed a lot of really boring lesson plans while you were out," Danny was saying. "Lancer made us read. Out _loud_."

Sam laughed, bumping Danny with her shoulder. "It can't be worse than the time he made us do Shakespeare in class."

"What are you talking about, Sam? I thought you made a great Macbeth. And Danny was an absolutely stunning Lady Macbeth." Tucker chuckled.

"Someone forgets their show-stopping performance as Kate in _The Tucker of the Shrew_," Danny teased.

"I should have been Lady Macbeth," Sam pouted, remembering.

"Okay, so reading aloud in class is a bad thing. But you also missed Salisbury steak," Tucker pointed out. "And for you, Sam, that is a good thing."

"It was a good thing for Tucker, too, he ate your share," Danny laughed.

"Lancer is such a beast," Sam said, looking at _Anna Karenina_. "It's not fair. Everyone else got to read this in class. It's not my fault my parents made me stay home."

"What'd they say to you?" Danny asked softly.

Sam shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. I stayed in bed mostly, pretended to sleep so they'd leave me alone. Everyone's sort of careful around me; I think they think I'm going to shove my fists into the toaster next."

"Are they worried for you, or for the toaster?" Danny asked.

Sam shrugged. "It's from Denmark," she said, which was her usual explanation regarding any actions involving the toaster. "They didn't want to let me go pick up my assignments in person, but I wanted to see you guys."

"And boy, are we glad to see you." Danny smiled, then arched a brow. "But you didn't come until three. What made you so sure we'd be in Lancer's detention?"

Sam grinned. "It's _Friday_, Danny. Where else would you two be?"

"Oh, shut up, Sam," Tucker said, but he was laughing. "If you hadn't missed school, you'd have been right in there with us."

Danny was in the lead as they walked out into the late afternoon sunlight, so he was the one who nearly got knocked over by a panicky Valerie as she ran towards the double doors. When he realized who was in front of him, he instinctively stepped to the side, shielding Sam. His look was not friendly. Tucker, meanwhile, seemed mesmerized by the way Valerie's amazing pneumatic chest was moving from lack of air.

"Fenton! Just who I was looking for," Valerie said, then noticed Sam behind him. "Hey, Sam, you're alive. Guess this means I won't be sending flowers."

Sam gave Danny a confused look. He shook his head at her to mean, no big deal. "What do you want, Val?" he asked.

"I'm glad you asked that," Valerie said, snapping her fingers. "Danny, remember that time you filled in for our mascot?"

Danny obviously remembered, because he winced. "No. No way. Forget it."

"Oh, right...the _football _game," Tucker said. "I almost forgot! Are they getting killed?" he added gleefully.

"They're getting _slaughtered_." Val clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please, Danny? Candace's elbow hit Jeffrey in the mouth on the way down from her basket catch. They can't even find his _teeth _and we need the mascot for the halftime show!"

"For_get_ it!" Danny repeated. "I just got my teeth the way I like them—in my _mouth_."

"Danny—"

Almost chuckling at how easy this was going to be, the Only Normal Fenton once again stepped in. "Danny! How could you be so insensitive! You promised you'd walk Sam home!"

Danny looked blank for a second, then caught Jazz's fly. "That's right," he said, turning to Val. "Sam and I are going home. Sorry, Val." He walked past her, leading Sam by the hand and throwing a wink back at Jazz.

"What would they do without me?" Jazz murmured to herself.

"Wait!" Valerie cried. "What am I going to do? I can't go back on that field without a replacement mascot!"

Jazz opened her mouth to suggest something, but Tucker stopped her with a grin. "Leave this one to me." Tucker deposited his share of Sam's books in Danny's arms and offered his hand to Val. "Tucker Foley at your service."

"Agggh." Valerie grabbed two fistfuls of her hair. "If they know I let Bad Luck Tuck on the field, we'll lose for sure."

"They're going to lose anyway! They lose every year!" Tucker retorted. "And right now I'm all you've got."

Valerie looked back at Danny and Sam, who were watching this exchange with smiles on their faces. "He's got a point, Val," Sam trilled.

"And he sure does look good in that raven suit," Danny added helpfully, giving Tucker a thumbs-up.

"Ugh." Valerie turned back to Tucker. "Okay, Foley, you're up. I really appreciate you doing me this favor."

Tucker smirked. "Favor? Who said anything about doing you a favor? I expect full payment for my services as a punching bag for two football teams and a cheerleading squad!"

Jazz's eyes went wide in appreciation of Tucker's cleverness. Meanwhile, Danny and Sam were snickering.

Valerie had the helpless look of an animal caught once more in the trap from which it had escaped. "Name your price, you fiend."

Tucker seemed proud of being referred to as a "fiend". "I pick you up after the game, we hit the post-party at the Nasty Burger. I'll even buy you a Mighty Meaty Cheesy Melt."

Valerie shook her head, but she gave him a grudging smile. "Pretty good hustle, Foley. All right, meet me in the gym and we'll get you suited up." She went into the building.

"The things I do for love," Tucker sighed. "Man, I'm really going to _earn_ this."

"And I get to record it all on a thirty-six exposure roll," Jazz quoted wickedly, holding up Matt's camera. "I should stick around anyway and give this back to Matt after the game."

"Aw, maaaaaan!" Tucker whined.

"I'm staying for the game, Danny," Jazz called. "Are you and Sam going to be all right?"

But Danny and Sam were already headed off in the direction of home, one of his hands holding her books and the other wrapped carefully around her bandaged fingers. They hadn't even heard her.

"Don't you know, Jazz?" Tucker asked. "They're going to be just fine."

* * *

Another one of the things Jazz liked about Matt Prescott was that he was the kind of guy who'd walk a girl to her doorstep.

"Are you sure you didn't want to stick around for more of the party?" Jazz asked.

"Nah," Matt said. "I was getting sick from all those Nasty Burgers."

"Should have gone with the Mighty Mini Meaty Cheesy Melt. Great taste, less filling," Jazz said, smiling at him. "And you didn't have to pay for my stuff. That was really nice of you."

"It was really nice of _you_ to come to the game," he said. "And to help me out with the yearbook photos. I saw you getting some terrific ones of the mascot getting tied to the goalpost." He laughed. "That poor bastard."

"Don't feel bad for Tucker," Jazz giggled. "You saw him torturing Valerie Gray at the Nasty Burger, asking her to play doctor with him."

"Yeah." Matt's smile was electric. "What about you? You like to play doctor?"

Jazz blushed at the implications of that statement and returned the favor. "I like to play psychiatrist. But it's almost as good—I have a really comfy couch."

"Maybe I should make an appointment," Matt said.

"Well, you know how to reach the front desk." That was enough innuendo for one night—she had to get inside before she melted into a puddle of estrogen. "I better get inside. But thanks for everything."

"Thank you, Jazz. Had a great time," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before heading down the steps. "Good night."

"Night!" In the dark of the entryway, she allowed herself a smile, then tried to calm down before she went further into the house. She didn't want anyone to notice and tease her.

But the house was darkened and silent as she padded into the living room. There were no sounds of machinery or carnage coming from the lab; most likely her parents were out of the house.

She found Danny sprawled out on his back on the carpet. Sam was curled up nearly perpendicular to him, her head pillowed on his stomach, face turned towards his. One of her hands clutched Danny's shirt, still thickly bandaged so it was hard to notice the contrast of white on white. Both were fast asleep, breathing deeply.

_Anna Karenina_ lay forgotten on the floor beside them, open to the first chapter. The print seemed to jump off the page at Jazz as she stared.

**_"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." _**

Jazz nudged the book closed with her toe and wondered how much reading they'd gotten done before they'd conked out. Not that she blamed them—it had been a long week for everyone. Still, she wasn't sure how happy her parents would be to find Sam and Danny sleeping cuddled together, no matter how innocent it was. She should wake them, she thought.

She frowned, remembering the stony faces of the Mansons in the hospital hallway as they refused to allow Danny to see Sam. The poor kids just wanted to be close, and the whole world seemed to want to keep them apart, whether it was little things like Paulina and parents or big things like ghosts and open wounds.

There was a stillness to the room as Jazz circled them, wondering if Sam's parents knew she had come over. They had reportedly grounded her for the stunt in the hallway and probably wouldn't be happy to know she was at the Fentons'. If they even noticed she was gone—who could tell, with those head cases.

She should wake them, she thought. Then they'd blush at each other the way they always did, spring apart as though it burned them to touch. They'd laugh nervously and make up some flimsy story about how they lost track of time and fell asleep cuddled together.

Danny sighed in his sleep, one of his hands smoothing Sam's hair.

And then as silently as she had come in, Jazz left the room, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her lips as she took one last look at her baby brother and his best friend.

Sometimes you just had to let them sleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter opens with the Tears For Fears song "Mad World", which can be found on the album "The Hurting" and can also be heard sung by Gary Jules in the incredible film "Donnie Darko". If anyone's interested in a warped view on Donnie and 80s music, I wrote a piece after I graduated college called "Wasting My Time, You're Just Wasting Time" that ended up on the Metaphilm web site, (smiles.) Metaphilm's a terrific site, full of interesting things, and last I heard my film professor was working with the Metaphilm editor on a book of similar film analysis.

The toaster from Denmark appears in the episode "Attack of the Killer Garage Sale". I loved that joke and couldn't resist adding it in this chapter.

My creative writing teacher back in college always assigned _Anna Karenina_, every semester, to any class she taught. She said it was the best book ever written. I have to disagree; I never finished it because I found it so tawdry and overdramatic. However, there are two interesting things about _Anna Karenina_—that first line that Jazz reads, and the fact that it was originally a serial in a magazine. Ever the editor, Tolstoy would go down to the printers and rearrange the type before it went to press, burning his hands and smearing them with ink.

At this point I'd like to say a sincere, heartfelt thank-you to everyone who's read this story. All that's left now is a couple of epilogues and I can put a bullet in this one. I had a _great _time writing this, and I only hope everyone's had as much fun as I have with it!


	7. October 23rdEntrapment

**Author's Introduction:**

Well, here's the big finish—or should I say, the big denouement. (chuckles.) I admit I'm posting this a little faster than normal—I'm off to California for the weekend and plan to work on my new DP fic on the flight, so I'd like to see this one posted in its entirety before I go. For your entertainment, divided into epilogues 1 & 2, I give you the final chapter. (bows).

* * *

**Ordinary World**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

_Papers in the roadside  
Tell of suffering and greed  
Here today, forgot tomorrow  
Here besides the news  
Of holy war and holy need  
Ours is just a little sorrowed talk  
And I don't cry for yesterday  
There's an ordinary world  
Somehow I have to find  
And as I try to make my way  
To the ordinary world  
I will learn to survive _

**(_Ordinary World, _Duran Duran)

* * *

**

**Epilogue the First: October 23rd

* * *

**

In the Fenton kitchen, Jazz's suicide paper was stuck to the refrigerator with a plush magnet shaped like a ghost. If you pressed its stomach, it said "Boo". The magnet had been carefully placed so as not to obscure the bright red "A+" written on the paper.

Jazz had never thought that she and her brother would one day be doing their makeup together in the Fenton's bathroom.

Okay, to be fair, Sam was doing Danny's makeup for him, and he'd done nothing but complain since she'd started. Holding in her giggles made Jazz keep smearing her lipliner crookedly along her laughing mouth.

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me," Danny said, his eyes rolled up in his head. "_Ow!_"

"Oh, hold still, you big baby," Sam laughed, penciling more eyeliner beneath Danny's eye. "You promised me you'd let me do your nails, too."

"No. No nails," he said. "Black eyeliner is one thing, but I draw the line at black nail polish."

Sam pouted. "Close," she ordered, and Danny obeyed, closing his eyes. Sam smudged the eyeliner, then said, "Okay. Done."

"How do I look?" he asked, smiling ghoulishly.

"Perfect," Sam said appreciatively. "Sure you don't want me to do your nails?"

"_No_ nails! The dog collar's kind of cool, and I can forgive the eyeliner, but when I said you could goth me up for the show, I didn't think you'd bring a suitcase full of stuff!" Danny laughed.

"It's just the basics!" Sam protested.

Danny pawed through Sam's metal train case, which was open on the sink and full of gothic paraphernalia. "I'll trade you the black nail polish for the fake lip ring."

"Deal."

"I'll do your eyeliner, too, Jazz," Sam offered. "I have green, too. It'll match your dress."

Jazz glanced at her dress, which was the pale green of new leaves, then at her face in the mirror. "I don't usually wear eyeliner, but okay."

Sam grinned, happy at the prospect of another subject. As she reached to apply the liner, Jazz could see only pale ghosts of the lacerations Sam had suffered on that long-ago day in the school hallway.

Speaking of ghosts, her brother was making scary faces at himself in the mirror. "Does this ring look better on my lip or in my nose?"

"If you're going to put it in your nose, let me know," Sam said. "I'll need to disinfect it."

Danny stuck out his tongue at her.

"You should get _that_ pierced!" Sam giggled.

"Maybe later," Danny chuckled. "Come on, Sam, we're going to be late." Getting his best friend in a gentle headlock, he smiled at Jazz. "How do we look?"

"You both look like the top of a punk-rock wedding cake," Jazz sighed, smoothing the skirt of her dress. "What about me?"

"Gorgeous," Sam said approvingly. "If a little…pastel."

"Watch out for Matt's big guns," Danny teased.

Jazz stuck out her own tongue at him. "Get out of here, both of you. Danny, watch out for Sam in the pit if there is one."

"I always do," Danny said heroically. Sam laughed, and then they were gone, and Jazz was alone. She gave her reflection a smile in the mirror before heading downstairs herself.

She was blinded by a flash as soon as she crossed into the hall. "Mo-om!"

"Jazzie, you look so beautiful!" Maddie gushed, lowering her camera. "When your date gets here, I can take one of the two of you."

"_No_," Jazz stated flatly. "Don't embarrass me when he gets here, please? Why don't you go harass Danny and Sam? You can put it in the family's Halloween card."

"I tried to get a picture of them, but they ran down the stairs so fast." Maddie adopted her husband's trademark pout for a second. "I just missed them—"

Jazz and Maddie were at the top of the stairway—close enough to hear Jack's excited yell from downstairs.

"_Incubus!_"

The two Fenton women exchanged panicked glances, then Maddie rushed towards the entryway, with Jazz in hot pursuit. "Jack, that's Danny and Sam! Don't—"

The sound of a patented Fenton weapon discharging was unmistakable.

"—shoot," Maddie sighed. "Too late."

She and Jazz spilled into the living room. Danny and Sam were a punk-rock tangle on the floor, encased in a net that gave off a faint green glow. They didn't look surprised, just annoyed.

"Incubus _and _a succubus," Jack said proudly, smoke wafting from the barrel of his weapon. "Two for the price of one!"

Maddie strode across the room and grabbed Jack by the ear.

"_Ow_!"

"Jack Fenton, why don't you _look_ before you shoot? That is _not_ an incubus, it is your _son_."

"Oh, when he's dressed like an incubus, he's _my _son." Jack rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

Maddie sighed. "And _stop_ calling Sam a succubus—she just likes to dress a little…differently than the other girls."

From within the net, Sam smiled up at Maddie gratefully. "Thanks, Mrs. Fenton!"

"But—but—" Jack stammered, flushing. "They were—they're—"

"They're going to a _rock_ concert," Maddie said. "You _knew_ that!"

"I told you the eye makeup was a bad idea," Danny said to Sam.

"It looks great! Your dad just proved it!" she protested.

Jazz stamped her high-heeled shoe. "Dad, could you get them out of that net? My date's going to be here any second and he's going to wonder about this."

"Rock concert?" Jack ignored Jazz, scratching his head with his free hand. "Why would they dress like ghosts to go to a rock concert?"

Maddie smirked. "I vaguely remember a guy I once dated who wore full face makeup to a Kiss concert."

A slow smile crept across Jack's face. "Hey, yeah! That was a great show! I broke my nose getting us to the front, and you threw your bra on stage!"

"_Dad_!" both Fenton children protested. Sam just looked embarrassed.

"Can you still stick your tongue out that far?" Maddie giggled.

Jack wiggled his eyebrows at his wife. "Only one way to find out—"

"Oh, _that_ is it!" Danny yelled, struggling against the net. "Dad, you are _not_ allowed to be gross while Sam and I are tied up and can't escape!"

"Focus, Mr. Fenton," Sam pleaded, trying to untangle herself from Danny.

"Daddy!" Jazz cried, at the same time that Maddie snapped, "Jack!"

The doorbell rang, and everyone froze.

Jazz felt her heart sink. Her date was going to be over before it began.

Maddie went to answer the door, still tugging Jack by the ear.

"_Ow_."

"Wait—" Jazz said, then buried her face in her hands.

Matt had a corsage in his hand and a confused smile on his face. "Hi—I'm Matt. I'm looking for Jazz—uh—Jasmine? Does Jasmine…live here?" He had seen the entire living room by now.

"I'm here," Jazz said, stepping forward to face the music, glancing back at her family. "You're just in time to—"

She'd been about to say, "to get me out of here", but the guilty looks on her parents' faces stabbed at her heart.

"Just in time to meet my family," she finished smoothly, taking Matt's arm and leading him further into the house. "Everyone, this is Matt Prescott. He's taking me to the dance. These are my parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton. They're inventors."

Looks of surprise were exchanged, but the Fentons recovered themselves quickly. Jack clasped Matt's hand and shook it. "Good to meet you, son. Jack Fenton."

"It's so nice to meet you, Matt," Maddie trilled, still holding her husband by the ear.

"And that's my brother Danny and his best friend Sam in the net," Jazz continued, pointing to where Danny and Sam were still trapped. "They're going to a concert tonight."

"We'd wave to you, if we could," Danny sighed.

Maddie elbowed Jack, who cleared his throat. "Oh, right, the net."

"Have fun at the show, guys," Jazz said. "If you ever get there."

"Ha, ha," Sam and Danny said simultaneously, sounding scarily alike. Sam immediately shot a smirk at Danny. "Get out of my brain!"

Danny grinned. It was the sight Jazz took with her as the door shut behind her.

It seemed quiet outside suddenly; a breeze rustled the trees on the street. Instead of running for the hills, Matt tucked a hand beneath Jazz's elbow. "Come on. My car's this way."

Jazz smiled, relief making her feel like her heels were skimming the sidewalk. "Sorry about that. They…they mean well."

Matt laughed. "Hey, it's cool. Everyone's family is a little crazy, you know?"

Bubbles tickled at the insides of her veins, brushed past her heart on the way to her already pleasantly light head. "Well, I figured I had to let you know early. I mean, if we get married and you find out later, that's entrapment."

"Consider me warned," Matt said, and opened her car door for her.

* * *

**Epilogue the Second: Entrapment

* * *

**

Jazz was dancing with her father.

After all the years she'd spent trying to escape the name Fenton, she was actually sorry to give it up, no matter how joyous the occasion was. She tried to keep the tears out of her eyes, but her father saw anyway.

Clearing his throat, he spoke around some tears of his own. "Jazzie, I couldn't be happier for you today. Your mother and I love you so much, and I just want you to know that whatever happens...you'll always be my little girl." Jack Fenton beamed at his daughter, his eyes shining.

"Thanks, Dad," Jazz whispered, and hugged her father fiercely, grateful for the knowledge that she would always be a Fenton, no matter what.

Jack gave her a squeeze, then chuckled and motioned towards Matt Prescott, who was smiling at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for his turn to dance with his bride. "I think your dance card's full, Jazzie."

Jazz smiled. "There's just one thing I have to do first." Lifting the skirt of her wedding dress to walk, she retrieved her flowers from the dais and headed across the dance floor to where her brother—all grown up and strikingly handsome in a tuxedo—was dancing with his date, who complemented him beautifully in a wine-colored dress and heels. They were staring dreamily into each other's eyes, and Jazz prepared to keep a promise she'd made to herself a long time ago.

"Hey, Sam!" she called, and the owner of that name turned in Danny's arms to answer the call.

"Heads up!" Jazz laughed, and tossed her the bouquet.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And that's all she wrote (smiles.) At least on this fic. But I've got another stirring in my mind already, thanks to Tucker whispering in my ear during a nine-to-five shift. (chuckles.) Thanks again to everyone who read this, and a very big thank-you to Cloudy, best friend, best beta. I couldn't have finished this without her help!


End file.
